


latching onto you

by Behindthecities



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oblivious!Isak, POV Isak Valtersen, excessive pinning, extra!Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behindthecities/pseuds/Behindthecities
Summary: In which model!Isak and director!Even get caught drunkenly making out with each other by the paparazzi at the club and the only solution to it is to pretend to be each other’s boyfriends.//the pretend boyfriends verse that no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I spend _way_ too much time thinking about Isak and Even in various AU scenarios and I just really needed to write this because it wouldn't leave my head for days—I apologize for any and all awkward dialogues, feelings of frustration from how obvious Isak is, and also all the incorrect information about the fashion world that's in here (I tried my best, okay?)
> 
> A massive, massive, like literally the biggest thanks to Sarah, [strangetowns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/), for editing my work so it's actually readable, for putting up with all the insecurities that rose up while I was working with this, and always being an encouraging and loving voice. I love you to the moon and back, I hope you know that. 
> 
> //Title from Latch by Disclosure feat. Sam Smith (a gorgeous song if you haven't listened to it yet)
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy friends.

It’s almost 5 in the morning when Isak’s phone starts buzzing beside him. He recognizes the caller and groans into his pillow, ignoring it for a minute. Isak got in late last night after wrapping up the Versace show in London and almost fell asleep in the car ride back home from JFK. Isak had barely made it past the front door before he passed out cold in his bed.The apartment’s a mess, as it always is after he gets back from a job. There’s a trail of clothes balled up on the floor leading to his bed, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and books haphazardly placed in every corner.

The buzzing continues, forcing Isak to open his eyes and press the phone to his ear, still remaining in bed.

He rubs his eyes, squinting at the bright screen that flashes a familiar name.“Do you know what time it is? What the fuck, Even.”

“Your sleeping voice is so cute,” Even says, and Isak can hear him smirking from the other side. “Can you let me in? I’m outside your door.”

Isak groans again, sliding out of his covers and walking towards the door. “Can you fuck off?”

“You’re always so grumpy when you wake up, I’ve noticed.”

“Shut up,” Isak grumbles, opening his door to let his (definitely unwanted) guest in.

“Good morning,” Even chirps, smiling brighter than the sun itself. Isak offers an unimpressed look back; it’s too early to be comparing someone’s smile to sun. Even’s wearing a grey hoodie, black skinnies, and an obnoxiously floral bandana tied to his forehead.

“Stop pretending like bandanas look cool on you,” Isak says, stepping aside to let the taller man in.

“Listen, it’s a look, okay? It works,” Even says easily, leaving his carry-on and shoes at the door before unceremoniously dumping himself on one of Isak’s couches. “Where’s my good morning?”

“You don’t get one for waking me up.”

“That’s harsh.”

“It’s what you deserve,” Isak mumbles. “Did you come here straight from the airport? You know, you have your own home.”

“I did and I like it here,” Even says, shifting around to get himself more comfortable before looking up at Isak and giving him a smile. “How was London?”

Isak blinks, not wanting to dwell on why exactly Even _‘likes it here’_ and focus on answering his question. “Grey and wet.”

“I bet you brought the bad weather with you, grumpy.”

“I should have ignored your call and never let you in.”

“You love me,” Even muses. “I need coffee.”

“Make it yourself. You know where everything is,” Isak says, making his way towards his bathroom. He takes a quick shower, hoping the cold water will wake him up. Isak leans against the tiled wall, closing his eyes for a second. The exhaustion he feels is bone deep, weighing him down and aching through his muscles. Isak can hear Even clanking around in his kitchen and can’t help wonder how _okay_ he is with the prospect of this person just showing up at his house and making them coffee in the morning.

He wonders how _okay_ he is with Even seeing him in the morning with his messy hair and tired face. Isak doesn’t need to think too hard with Even because everything just feels strangely natural with him. Of course, he’s thought long and hard about the possible explanations for all of this. They’ve known each other for a while now and they’re friends and this is how friends are, right? Except there’s a part of him, a very small, miniscule, tiny, microscopic part, that insists that it’s something else. Isak doesn’t like acknowledging that part because he’s certain there’s nothing other than friendship between Even and himself. They’re friends.

Turning off his faucet, Isak reaches for his towel and wraps it around his waist. He steps out of the shower and walks up to the sink, slowly going through his morning routine: brush teeth, wash face, moisturize, apply sunscreen. Isak yanks on a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweat pants, slinging his towel around his neck before he makes his way towards the kitchen. The apartment smells of freshly brewed coffee and scrambled eggs.

“You take your coffee black, right?” Even asks as Isak seats himself on the kitchen counter beside the stove.

“Yeah because unlike you, I don’t plan on getting diabetes when I turn 30,” Isak retorts, reaching for his coffee and taking a savouring sip. “Who the fuck puts 3 sugars on their coffee?”

“I just like enjoying my life Isak, not everyone has your boring taste,” Even teases, transferring the eggs into two plates that already has buttered toasts. “I was surprised you even had milk and eggs in your fridge, because there’s barely anything else. How do you live?”

“Simple, I don’t cook,” Isak says easily, handing over Even a fork and digging into his eggs. He almost moans out loud at how creamy they are. Isak will never admit that the way Even makes eggs is his favourite.

“What would you do without me?” Even smirks.

“Probably get more sleep.”

"Sleep’s overrated anyway.”

“Speak for yourself,” Isak huffs, feeling more awake now that he’s had some breakfast and coffee.

“I saw your editorial for GQ the other day,” Even says, biting into his toast. “You’re so hot, Isak.”

And Isak really shouldn’t feel the heat rising up to his cheeks every time Even compliments him, which happens too often for him to think about how often it happens. The thing is, Even flirts with everyone, that’s just his nature (and no, Isak doesn’t feel a prick of jealousy every time Even does flirt with someone else). Besides, Isak is a model, it’s in his job description to be attractive to some degree. So it really shouldn’t be a big deal.

Isak shrugs, because, again, it truly isn’t big deal. “Mario Testino can make everyone look good.”

Even leans back and looks him up and down. “Nah, I think it was all you this time.”

Isak swallows his coffee too quickly and almost chokes. “Um—"

Even takes a sip of his own coffee, his eyes locked on Isak’s the entire time. “It reminded about the first time we met.”

Everything’s gone quiet now and Isak wonders if Even can hear how loudly his heart is beating.  “At the GQ Men of the Year shoot, I remember.”

 *

2 years ago, Isak Valtersen, a newly scouted 23 year old, had made his first big break in the fashion industry with the TOM FORD fragrance campaign. Soon his face was plastered everywhere, in commercials, on billboards at Time Square, in magazines and newspapers. Everyone wanted to know about him, what he ate, what he liked. All the buzz had caught GQ’s attention, and to this day Isak is still confused how he was picked as one of the men of the year in 2015, but that’s what lead him to Even.

Even at the time was an established and successful director who had managed to be nominated at Cannes and TIFF for best short with his highly controversial film, _Divided._ At the young age of 26, he had managed to portray bipolar disorder in a critical yet contemporary way in just 10 minutes. Even was charming, funny, and easy on the eyes with his sharp features and playful grin. It made sense for Even to be at the GQ shoot, alongside famous actors and entrepreneurs that were making noise in the media.

Isak remembers how nervous he had been that day, struggling to maintain conversations with people because everyone was so intimidating. Once the photographer had waved him away when he was finished, Isak ran to the back exit. He leaned heavily against the bricked wall of a narrow alley and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You look like you’re having a shitty time,” came a voice from his left as a figure emerged from the shadows. “Same here, Isak.”

Isak was trying his best not to let his jaw drop at how casually famous movie director Even Bech Naæheim 1) knew who he was and 2) looked ridiculously attractive in a white checkered suit with bell bottoms. Isak should’ve realized then that the man can pull off anything and this would annoy him for the rest of his life.

“Yeah, this isn’t really my scene,” Isak admitted, after an uncomfortably long silence, and then blushed because he had just confessed what a newbie he was. The cool January air had intensified into great gusts of wind as little flakes of snow started falling.

Beside Isak, Even had taken out a rolled up blunt and placed it in between his lips as he flicked his thumb down on a lighter creating a flame. Isak watched, absolutely transfixed as Even’s cheeks hollowed out, holding the smoke inside his lungs and then blowing it out. He was broken out of his trance when Even offered him the same joint wordlessly, with his stupid smile and his stupid blue eyes. Isak fumbled with it before taking his first hit and trying his best to relax.

20 minutes later, Even and Isak both got caught by the photographer’s assistant who was furiously looking for both of them to finish the group shot. Even was still giggling beside him when they were ushered back into set. In the end, the older man had insisted they exchange numbers and stay in contact. Isak didn’t think much of it because he figured that Even was only being polite, but that night when they both parted, Even had texted: _did you know that snowflakes are actually clear and not white?_ And Isak had taken almost three hours trying to come up with some clever response only to text back: _well it’s frozen water, and water isn’t white._ To which Even responded with a crying laughing emoji and demanded they meet up for drinks later that week.

2 years later, Even still sends him random trivia and memes which Isak secretly stashes them in a small folder titled “EBN” (which he knows isn’t subtle at all). 

*

 “You’re coming to the launch party tonight, right?” Even asks him as he starts washing the dishes in the sink before filling up Isak’s favourite “The Bags Under My Eyes are Designer” mug with water and handing it to him. Isak watches Even work from the corner of his eyes for a minute, thinking about how the once charged moment between them has fizzled out, like it was never there.

Isak finishes his water and slides off the counter to help Even put the dishes back. “Yeah, I can’t wait for the new music, Elias has been teasing me with music samples for months.”

Elias Bakkoush, the lead singer of band Hei Briskeby, alongside Mikael Boukhal as the drummer, and Adam Malik and Moutasim Tatouti as the guitarists. Even had introduced Isak to the boys a few months ago and they hit it off right away. Isak loves their music, an interesting mix between rock and old school hip-hop.

“Don’t tell anyone but, I’m gonna direct the music video for the new single,” Even grins, facing Isak.

“Shit, really?” Isak asks excitedly. “What’s it about?”

“Can’t say, it’s a secret.”

“Oh my god seriously, Even, who would I tell?” Isak whines, kicking Even on the shin making him laugh.

“You know for someone who kick boxes, you have no strength in your kicks,” Even teases.

“If I actually kicked you, you’d be on the floor unconscious.”

“I mean your looks alone have the same effect on me.”

(Isak does not blush, he _doesn’t_.)

“You’re so extra.”

 “Only for you, babe,” Even winks and Isak feels a wave of warmth unfold in his stomach and reach the tips of his toes. Their eyes meet and a comfortable silence falls between them, solid, unwavering, and strong. 

*

“I noticed you got my postcard,” Even says when they’ve migrated to the living room under a pile of blankets. The air condition has been running all night, making the apartment much cooler than the blistering September heat outside. Isak has his feet propped against the black coffee table in front of the couch and Even has his feet resting on Isak’s lap, much to his dismay.

“It’s just as pretentious as you are,” Isak says, mindlessly flipping through channels looking for something they both can enjoy. Which is a lot more difficult than one would presume. Isak likes the National Geographic channel and finds wildlife documentaries fascinating, while Even would much rather be watching something on netflix like _The Get Down_ and _Stranger Things._ When Isak thinks about it, he and Even have very different tastes in things. Isak is almost always wearing darker colours while Even loves bright shades (preferably with prints, the more ridiculous, the better). Even has a passion for trying new food and Isak never eats anything he isn’t familiar with. Isak would much rather be inside sleeping while Even’s always seeking new adventures. Sometimes Isak wonders how they get along as well as they do because they always manage to find some middle ground, despite all odds. (He definitely doesn’t think about how _opposites attract_ and how _they balance each other out_ because those things don’t apply to him and Even.)

“The deal was we send each other something _unique,”_ Even explains, digging his toes into Isak’s thighs. Isak in response slaps his shins, giving the other an annoyed look.

“Yeah, so send a fun one? Like the one I sent you the time I went to France, remember?”

“Oh yes, the _I heart France_ postcard was the very definition of unique, Isak. A one of a kind gem, truly.”

“It was cute! I got it from the gift store at the Eiffel tower!”

“And I got mine from an antique store in Kyoto! The lady told me it was from World War II Isak, that’s culture.”

“Should have kept it for yourself, if you love it so much.”

“I’ll take it back now, then.”

“No!” Isak cries out, a little too passionately, making Even snicker.

“You love everything I send, admit it!”

“I will admit nothing,” Isak says quietly, biting the inside of his left cheek. Both Even and Isak had started a tradition last year to send postcards to each other every time they went somewhere new. Even would always send the most peculiar kinds, filled to the brim with very detailed accounts of his trip. It’s sometimes the first thing Isak thinks about when he lands somewhere new, trying his absolute best to try to find something cooler than what Even had sent him. Of course, Even always wins and it frustrates Isak like no tomorrow.

“I’m going to Shanghai later this summer,” Even whispers sometime later, his eyes closed and voice laced with fatigue. “I’ve always wanted to like, be James Bond, and have that fight scene with all those glass doors, that was fucking epic.”

“You should have been an actor then,” Isak says, settling on the news finally.

“Or a spy.”

“You’d be the worst spy.”

“Hey, I can be smooth!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a qualifier.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I don’t base my knowledge of things on movies, idiot.”

“You just lack imagination,” Even says, sticking his tongue out.  

“And you’re still 4 years old.”

“Great comeback, dude.”

“Shut up,” Isak responds. ”I need to meet my trainer so I won’t be back until later. You need to sleep.” He shoves over Even’s feet and heads over to his bedroom in search for his gym bag. Even follows him inside and jumps into Isak’s bed, pushing his face into Isak’s favourite blue pillow. “Don’t sleep on my bed!”

“Too late, have a good day darling,” Even says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Isak rolls his eyes and walks out to look for his wallet and running shoes. By the time he’s changed and packed for his gym session, Isak realizes he left his phone on his bedside table. He walks quietly inside to discover Even’s fast asleep, his mouth slightly open and his once impeccably styled hair, now in a limp mess. Even looks so young and open like this, and Isak stands there, gazing at him for a second. He shines so bright in front of the cameras, but here Even’s the soft glow of a firefly that Isak wants to keep inside a jar forever. And it’s these moments that make his chest ache and bones quiver in desire.

They’ve never talked about it. The longing gazes, the casual cheek kisses, the private smiles. But maybe it’s for the best, Isak thinks before heading out the door.

*

When Isak gets home after his appointment with his trainer and lunch with some friends from the city, his bed is made and Even’s gone. There’s a small note on top of the blue pillow that reads: _thanks for letting me sleep, see you tonight xo - E._ Isak lets a small smile slip, only to be interrupted by his phone buzzing inside his pocket.

“Hello?” Isak answers.

“You know, a call that you got in last night would have been helpful,” Jonas says from the other line, unimpressed. “For all I know, you could have died on the plane back to the city.”

“But I didn’t, and I’m sorry?”

“I can really hear the sincerity in that apology.”

“Right? I’m the most sincere.”

“You’re terrible,” Jonas sighs, making Isak grin because he knows there’s no malice behind the statement. Alongside being his manager, Jonas and Isak have been best friends since high school. Jonas had been there, supporting Isak, through the best and worst times of his life. He had been the comforting voice when Isak’s parents got a divorce, an understanding friend the day he came out as gay, and most of all a familiar face throughout his modeling career.

“I love you too, bro,” Isak cooed.

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s what’s happening tonight,” Jonas says, his voice changing to one that is professional and clear. “I’ve told Eskild to go over an in hour with your suit and everything. There’s gonna be a lot of press outside the venue, so I’ll tell the driver to drop you off at the back entrance. MTV’s covering the event so you’re scheduled for an interview at around 9 PM, I’ll take you to the room where they’re doing all the interviews. Other than that, just have fun and don’t answer any questions about the new TOM FORD campaign yet.”

“Got it, got it, and got it,” Isak says, listening attentively. “When are you getting there?”

“Not until late, I have a meeting with the agency,” Jonas sighs, “but I’ll message you when I can. Don’t do anything embarrassing. Later.”

Isak pockets his phone and debates on cleaning up before Eskild gets here or finishing the Stieg Larsson novel he had started on the flight. Then he imagines how much Eskild complains if there’s any mess around and decides it’s best to tidy up. The hour goes by quickly once Isak gets into it, unpacking his suitcase and putting away his books in their designated shelves. By the time he’s managed to finish vacuuming all the carpets, there’s someone incessantly knocking on his door.

“Jesus, you look awful,” Eskild exclaims once Isak opens the door to let him in, makeup bag in tow with a suit and dress shoes on the other. Eskild is wearing a grey floral shirt, unbuttoned completely to reveal a mesh white tank, all tucked into a pair plain black slacks. They had met a year ago, where Isak was walking for Burberry and Eskild was hired to design the makeup look for the show. Upon their first encounter, Eskild had flirted with him the entire night and got so drunk at the after party, Isak pretty much carried him home and set a glass of water and some aspirin by his bed before he left. Within weeks, Eskild had insisted Isak become one of his clients and said that _“the gays need to stick together in this industry”_ , so that was that.

“Nice to see you too, Eskild, I’ve missed you so much,” Isak deadpans.

“Aw babe, I missed you too. How was London? Did you hook up with anyone?”

Isak grimaces because of course Eskild asks him if he’s hooked up with anyone.  “No, I barely had time to sleep, let alone sleep with someone.”

“British guys are so hot, though! Their accents alone make me hard.”

“Eskild, you’ve been here for two minutes and you’re already talking about sex.”

“Is there anything in life but sex? Maybe wine. But, when you’re my age, you’ll wish you could’ve been younger, because your drive just—”

“Okay! Can we just get ready now? I need to leave in 2 hours,” Isak cries out, flushing a bright pink.

“You’re so cute, Isak,” Eskild laughs, ushering the other to sit down so he can get started on his makeup. “Cue the makeover montage!” 

*

“Okay, turn for me babe,” Eskild instructs, stepping back with a look of concentration on his face.

 Isak turns obediently, feeling good about his outfit. He has on a double-breasted dark blue suit from the new TOM FORD’s summer collection. Eskild had insisted Isak roll the sleeves up to his elbows and forgo the tie to give a more casual vibe. Underneath his blazer, he went with a crisp white shirt with the top button undone. To finish the look, Eskild had instructed Isak to wear black socks and dress shoes to emphasize the blue of his suit.

“Perfect, you look amazing,” Eskild cries, wiping away fake tears making Isak roll his eyes. “I just need to touch up the concealer a bit, because someone didn’t use the serum like I told them to.”

Isak sighs. “Eskild, let it go.”

“Maybe listen to me next time.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Of course you will,” Eskild says, dusting a bit more setting powder on Isak’s forehead. “Even’s going, right?” Eskild had met Even at the Alexander McQueen show last fall that Isak was walking on. Even being the charmer he is, made Eskild absolutely smitten and fall in love right away.

“Yeah, knowing him though, he’ll probably show up late. Why?”

“He texted me earlier about something,” Eskild smirks, fixing Isak’s collar.

“About what?”

“He asked me not to tell you.”

“What,” Isak frowns, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Eskild winks.

*

Isak gets a text from Even once he’s inside the car and heading towards the Music Hall of Williamsburg. The streets in the city are packed with cars and Isak regrets not just taking the subway instead. When he opens the text, it’s a picture of what appears to a selfie taken by Even — Isak forgets to breathe for five long minutes. Even’s wearing a white shirt with collars with the top buttons undone and a black blazer on top. He has his hair done up in his signature quiff and minimal makeup. Even’s biting his lip slightly, arrogantly looking at the camera and Isak wants to punch him in the face. He almost misses it, but then he sees that the caption reads: _heard you were wearing dark blue so i thought we’d match._ Surely enough, Isak notices the dark blue pocket square Even’s adorning right by the corner of the picture.  

*

The car pulls up behind the venue and Isak texts Jonas as he gets out of the car. Isak hasn’t replied to Even’s text yet, but he hasn’t been able to think about anything else either. Maybe he’s overthinking this, Isak considers. Maybe Even does this with all his close friends (it’s not like he thinks Isak’s someone special to _match with_ at events, right?).

Before he has the time to answer that question, a few fans that were lurking near the backdoor scream once they recognize him and crowd around to take selfies. Luckily the paparazzi hasn’t figured out people are entering through the backdoor yet so Isak makes his way inside before they get a chance.

The room is dark with blue and yellow florescent lights lined up on the walls that illuminate the stage up front. Isak recognizes a few guests trickling in slowly, everyone in their own small groups, knocking back a few shots to get started for the night.

“Damn, looking sharp buddy,” interrupts a familiar voice from behind. Isak turns around and immediately recognizes the owner of the voice to be none other than fellow model, Sana Bakkoush, smiling at him.

“Sana!” Isak says excitedly, wrapping his arms around her for a quick embrace. Sana hugs back, patting his back gently and laughing when he squeezes her tight. Isak met Sana through Elias, her older brother, after a Hei Briskeby concert last summer. She was the first muslim model to adorn a hijab on vogue’s cover after competing in America’s Next Top Model. Isak was immediately attracted to her quick witt and sharp tongue. He has immense amounts of respect for how she always says true to herself no matter what comes her way, be it a modeling gig or a flashy new campaign.

“You’re one to talk, you look gorgeous!” Isak admits.

“Aw, thanks.” Sana grins, giving him a dimpled smile that can light up a whole room. She has on a long black gown and a rose patterned hijab. Sana’s gone for a dark red lip and black liner that accentuate her full lips and chocolate brown eyes. “Congratulations on the new TOM FORD campaign, but I hear it’s all being kept hush hush?”

“Thanks, it feels so surreal to do something with him again. The only thing I can say is that the collection comes out this fall, but it’s pretty sick.”

“The last collection you campaigned was amazing, so I’m expecting nothing less,” Sana admits and Isak blushes, always awestruck that Sana admires his work just as much as he does her. “I’m surprised you even made it to this, you’re always working.”

“And miss the album release after Elias’s been sending me all those music samples for months? No way!”

Sana laughs,“I’ve heard the whole thing, sibling privileges.”

“That’s ridiculous, I should get like, friend privileges in that case.”

 “He didn’t even invite Even this time for a listen, so I think it was just fam,” Sana giggles. “Have you seen him around? He texted me yesterday promising he’d show up.”

“You know him, always showing up late,” Isak says, more fondly than he’d like to.

“He’s literally the most pretentious person I know, with those bandanas, he looks ridiculous!”

“I’m so glad you think that too, he’s convinced it’s _a look_.”

“That’s just tragic,” Sana says sadly, making Isak laugh before he notices a tall figure coming their way. Isak recognizes him as none other than Yousef Acar, Even’s childhood friend and production manager. Yousef’s dressed more laidback in comparison to Isak and Sana, sporting a fitted black varsity jacket with ripped dark washed jeans and grey hightops.

“Hey guys,” Yousef smiles. “You look gorgeous,” he says to Sana shyly. Isak gives Sana an amused look to which Sana responds by rolling her eyes. “What’s up?”

“Just discussing Even’s tragic fashion choices,” Sana says simply, trying really hard not to smile back at Yousef.

“He thinks bandanas look cool on him,” Isak adds in.

“Oh my god, I gave him one as a joke a few weeks ago and now he won’t take it off?” Yousef admits, laughing nervously.

“It was you?! I can’t believe this,” Sana exclaims, absolutely appalled which makes Isak almost cry out in laughter. Yousef has had a thing Sana for almost 3 years now, before Isak came to know them both. It amuses him like nothing else to see the cool and unfazed Sana get riled up with Yousef’s silly antiques. They’re always flirting, if not explicitly, something’s always implied.

“Think I could it pull it off?” Yousef smirks.

“You’re not even pulling off what you’re wearing right now,” Sana replies sassily.

Yousef pouts. “Damn Sana, why are you always breaking my heart?” he says resting his hand against his heart, while Sana tries her hardest not to smile.

“You both are gross,” Isak says, rolling his eyes, wondering when the two will stop pretending to be obvious and admit they’re in love with each other already.

“You’re one to talk, Even’s always writing you those love notes on set,” Yousef retorts. “Once he spend three hours on a wild goose chase looking for a fucking postcard in Berlin.”

Isak’s heart stutters at the thought of Even setting aside his busy schedule to scour through an entire city just to find him the perfect post card. “They’re not love notes,” he blurts out, because they’re not. And Even’s definitely not in love with Isak. And Isak’s definitely not in love with him.

“They’re not _just_ postcards either,” Yousef says easily sharing a look with Sana, like they both know something Isak doesn’t. He lets out a nervous laugh letting the conversation stir somewhere else when Sana starts talking about Stephen Curry’s recent jump shot. Isak wants to tell them that they’re not love notes, that it’s something silly he and Even have kept up. _They don’t really mean anything,_ he wants to say. But there’s a small voice inside Isak’s head that insists he wants to convince himself of it more than anyone else.

 *

By the time Isak’s finished his interviews, greeted his fans, and posed for the paparazzi’s accumulating exponentially outside, the members of Hei Briskeby have started giving their opening remarks.

“We can’t thank everyone here enough for the response we’ve received since we released the first single a few weeks ago,” Elias smiles, as Isak, Sana, and Yousef let out enthusiastic cheers. “It’s been a long time coming since our last album, but we’re excited that we can finally share this with the world!”

The boys have gone with their own take on the classic 50’s greaser look with a modern twist. Both Elias and Mikael are sporting embellished leather jackets while Mutta and Adam opted for patterned skinnies. Everything quiets down as the lights dim and the stage glows from beneath. Elias’s charismatic yet steady voice dances through the room, making the crowd erupt in energetic cheers. Isak feels himself getting lost in the lyrics, the beat vibrating its way through his bones. He listened to the song when it first came out through the radio, but watching the boys create it in front him is surreal.

At this moment, Isak’s in awe of how far the boys have come. He’s heard stories of how they’d get called names and things thrown at them in concerts, the media accusing them of being terrorists simply because they were Muslims. Isak had boiled in anger, wanted to show the world what he saw in Elias, Mikael, Mutta, and Adam — hard working and extremely talented musicians that knew how to make magic with their finger tips. But the Hei Briskeby boys always stood their ground, focused on the music, and sent a message that they were much more than any label or stereotype. 2 sold out world tours, 5 hit singles, and now 2 albums later, they’d made it, and Isak couldn’t be more proud.

Before the first song comes to an end, Isak feels someone wrap their hand around his waist from behind.

“Aw I missed the first song,” a familiar voice whispered into his left ear and it makes Isak shiver. He turns around to Even’s cheeky smile only to offer an unimpressed look back.

“You’re late,” Isak states, trying very hard to sound annoyed.

“Oh look it’s bandana boy,” Sana says from beside him, making Isak and Yousef snort. “Let’s take a moment to thank whoever dressed Even tonight, you actually look decent.”

Decent would be an understatement, Isak wants to say, but bites his tongue instead. His eyes narrow at the dark blue pocket square tucked into Even’s suit. Even catches him looking at it and smirks. Isak very pointedly ignores him.

“Sana, you’re kind as ever,” Even exaggerates.

“Yeah you’re a total angel,” Yousef grins making everyone, including Sana, cringe.

“Sorry I’m late, had a meeting I couldn’t get out of,” Even says, saving Yousef from embarrassing himself even more. “The night is still young, friends.”

Yousef and Sana turn towards the stage once the next set starts up, and Isak’s left beside Even behind them.

“I’ve always liked dark blue, it’s such a ravishing shade,” Even states as a matter of fact, giving Isak a teasing smile, knowing exactly what he’s thinking.

Isak just rolls his eyes. If his heart beats a little faster thinking about how Even found out he’s wearing a dark blue suit and then bought a pocket square to match, no one has to know.

*

Three hours later, Isak is most definitely drunk. The album release party has since ended and Mutta had insisted they burn off their energy at a nearby club. Sana had declined right away, claiming she had an early flight to catch tomorrow morning and making Yousef sulk in sadness. They all crammed into an uber Even had called for, which took an insanely long time because of the thick traffic of the city. Jonas hadn’t joined them until after they got to the club but left early, arguing that he needed his full 8 hours of sleep to function properly. Which left Isak, Even, Yousef, and the Hei Briskeby boys to party by themselves - an idea that Isak now regretted.

The mistake was to let Even control the flow of drinks, which started steady at first and then 6 vodka shots later, Isak’s lost count how many he’s downed at this point. He leans heavily against the bar table, hoping it’ll support his weight better than his own body. Isak looks out onto the dance floor to Adam and Even jumping up and down to the beat of the music. Yousef and Mikael are attempting to teach other how to do a body roll, both failing at it because they’re too drunk to do them properly. Isak sees Elias chatting up a leggy blonde with bright pink lips, making her smile and lean towards him for a kiss.

He scans the crowd for Even who had stepped outside to take a call and notices him near the entrance laughing at two girls surrounding him. All of Isak’s guard are down at this point so he leans back and takes in Even’s dishevelled appearance. His once perfectly coiffed hair is limp and sticking to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Even’s taken off his blazer and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows which reveal taut forearm muscles underneath. It’s ridiculous that Even looks just as good drunk, messy hair and flushed cheeks, as he does sober. (Not that Isak spends all his time checking him out).

The crowd erupts in loud cheers when _Pony_ by Ginuwine comes on. Elias extends his hand towards the blonde and leads her to the dance floor, joining all the other couples that have started grinding against each other. Adam and Mutta step off, but Mikael and Yousef have slowed their body rolls, teasing one another with winks and suggestive smirks. Isak is about to ask the bartender if there’s any water available, when someone wraps themselves around him from behind.

“You haven’t said anything about my pocket square,” comes Even’s voice from behind him and Isak’s too far gone to shrug him off.

“It doesn’t even go with your suit,” Isak responds, shivering slightly when he feels the other laugh into his neck.

“It’s an accent.”

“Do you even know what an accent means?”

“You love it, admit it.”

“Definitely not.”

Even let’s him go and Isak wants to pull him back.“Why are you so difficult?”

Isak frowns at Even’s words (and the loss of his touch).“You’re the one that’s difficult.”

Even smiles dopily making Isak’s heart ache for a millisecond. “You know how hard it to find a pocket square that matched your suit colour? I should be applauded for the effort.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone through all that effort in the first place.”

“Nah, you’re worth it,” Even smirks and Isak he can reach the bar table for support because he feels his knees weaken. “I bet we could outdance everyone here if we tried.”

Isak inches closer to Even, the alcohol in his system taking effect. “Is that a proposition?”

Even inches even closer. “If you want it to be.”

Isak looks at Even looking back at him—this feels dangerous. There’s a great rush of energy building up at bottom of his spine, ready to explode and unravel into something wild.

Even offers his hand towards Isak who takes it quickly, letting the other lead them towards heavy throng of people on the dance floor. Isak hears Yousef and Mikael hooting and cheering them on from behind. Even guides his arms around his neck, placing his own on Isak’s waist as they start to sway.

_If you’re horny, let’s do it, ride it, my pony._

Isak can feel Even’s hot breaths on his neck and almost trips when he feels a pair of lips brush his pulse point. He tightens his grip around Even’s waist, pulling him closer and closing his eyes. Isak’s heart thumps against his ribcage when Even’s grip tightens.

  _Just once if I have the chance, the things I will do to you._

Even noses against Isak’s cheek, placing a quick kiss against it. “I really wanna kiss you.”

Isak doesn’t have the time to process his words before Even’s lips are against his and everything quiets down. They’ve never ventured into this kind of territory before—this is new.

(But it feels so right.)

Isak stops thinking when Even’s fingers grasp the short strands of hair at the back of his head. A great wave of desire floods into his bloodstream, heating up his entire body. Isak feels like he’s coming undone under Even’s finger tips, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left of him. Even bites his bottom lip and tugs at it gently, making Isak whimper. They pull apart, Isak’s forehead resting against Even’s cheek as he tries to catch his breath.

Even runs his fingers through Isak’s hair gently while the other rests at his waist. “We should get you home.”

Isak, still struggling to keep his breathing steady, can only nods slowly. He feels Even kiss his forehead before his wrist, leading them through the crowd of people at the club. Isak’s head is buzzing with thoughts from what had just happened, moving too fast to process anything.

Once they reach the exit, Even wraps his arms around Isak’s shoulders to hold him tight. It feels safe here, Isak thinks, right in Even’s arms.

*

Isak wakes up to his phone buzzing incessantly beside him. He groans into his pillow as he blinding reaches for it. “Hello?”

“You’ve made a big fucking mess,” comes Jonas’s voice from the other side, loud and angry.

Isak’s head is throbbing in pain, he’s definitely hungover. “What, Jonas stop yelling.”

“Since when did you and Even start making out? It’s fucking everywhere.”

“What?” Isak asks, this time a lot more alert.

“For fuck’s sake, check my messages. I’m coming over,” Jonas spits out, hanging up the phone. Isak stares at his screen for a second before unlocking it. There’s hundreds of messages and notifications that have piled up. He taps on the ones Jonas sent, scrolling through until he comes across at a screen shot and immediately wants to throw up all over his sheets. It’s an article from Perez Hilton’s website and the title reads: **MODEL ISAK VALTERSEN AND DIRECTOR EVEN BECH NÆSHIEM SHARE A PASSIONATE KISS.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which model!Isak and director!Even get caught drunkenly making out with each other by the paparazzi at the club and the only solution to it is to pretend to be each other’s boyfriends.
> 
> //the pretend boyfriends verse that no one asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! thank you so much for such an amazing reception to this fic, it warmed my heart that y'all enjoyed the first chapter and that you want to find out what happens next! I just wanted to say that it's been tough for a lot of the writers in the fandom recently having to deal with hate, negative comments, and such. I've been very lucky in that y'all have been so sweet and kind with your comments, kudos, reblogs on tumblr. It's scary to put your work out in the world because it makes you vulnerable to various kinds of negative judgement and criticism. Fic writers keep the fandom going by taking the time to entertain us with their beautiful stories. Writing is _difficult_ , especially if you have other commitments irl or you face performance anxiety like me and think that your work isn't good enough for people. I have so much respect for the writers in this fandom because they're talented at what they do. So I hope y'all leave encouraging comments on other works, let writers know that you appreciate their work as much as you've done with mine—it makes a world of a difference and we appreciate and love all that you do <3 (that was just my little spiel that I wanted to get out) 
> 
> Of course, many thanks to the wonderful Sarah, [strangetowns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/), who I'm so grateful to have in my life—you are a beautiful human being, ily so much. 
> 
> ***Warning** : There's a statement that addresses the stigma behind pansexual folks which is something I've personally dealt with - it's something that I want to discuss further into the fic but if anyone has any issues with it, please let me know!

There’s a saying that goes — _ “think before you act” _ —in Isak’s defence, he was so drunk last night, thinking was not an option.

“What were you thinking?” Jonas asks exasperatedly.

Isak inhales deeply. “I  _ wasn’t _ —I don’t even know what happened.” He keeps looking at the picture of him and Even, eyes closed, mid-kiss, like they’re utterly lost in the moment. Isak can’t recognize himself let alone remember what exactly lead him to what they did. The more he remembers about last night, the more he wants to forget.

“Is there—” Jonas takes a breath, “—is there something going on between the two of you?”

“No,” Isak responds too quickly. “We’re  _ just friends  _ Jonas, fuck.” His head hurts and everything seems too loud right now.

“Well—what am I meant to think, Isak? Tell me.”

“We were drunk!” Isak sputters.

(It’s not like he would kiss Even if he wasn’t drunk.)

“So you make out with Even?!”

Isak closes his eyes, letting out a short breath. “It’s not like I’m the only one to blame here!”

Jonas is about to respond before his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. “I need to take this.” He sighs before stepping onto the balcony, sliding the glass door behind him.

Isak feels like everything is collapsing in on him. Like this is all a very bad nightmare that he wants to wake up from already. His entire body hurts, and he just wants to curl up in a ball and lie down for a while, at least until he can think coherently.

Isak had kissed Even. Correction—Isak had  _ made out _ with Even.

After they had left the club, Even had driven him home. Isak remembers Even’s fingers running through his hair every time they had to stop for a red light. He remembers how Even had caressed Isak’s cheeks gently to wake him up when they’d reached his apartment. He remembers Even, holding him close, as they took the elevator up to the tenth floor. The last thing Isak felt before he fell asleep was a pair of lips brush against his forehead.

Jonas comes back inside after a couple of minutes and sits down beside Isak. “I need to go in for a meeting with the agency, but we need to meet with Even and sort this out.”

Isak’s heart jerks at the thought of having to face Even and Jonas notices. “We need to sort this out, Isak. There’s no other way, I’m sorry.”

Isak nods, trying to ground himself in the reality of Jonas’s words. “I know.”

*

Once Jonas gets back a couple of hours later, he arrives with Even and a lady named Marianne Lenox, in tow.

“Hi, Marianne Lenox, wish we’d met in better circumstances,” she says, shaking Isak’s hand and offering an apologetic smile. Marianne, who appears to be in her early 30’s, explains that she’s the entertainment lawyer for Universal Pictures, the film studio producing Even’s movie. “I’m basically like Olivia Pope from Scandal, I handle all the messy stuff and this...is definitely a mess.”

Isak looks over at Even sitting beside her. He looks just as tired and wrung out as Isak, his hair flat and product free, almost like he’s lost his usual charm and good spirits. They haven’t spoken to each other since last night and Isak’s not sure what they should even say to each other.

Jonas clears his throat. “There’s no point in wasting time talking about what’s already happened, so let’s move forward.”

Marianne nods, “unfortunately this is racking up a lot bad press, which we can’t afford with the movie release just around the corner.”

“New York fashion week starts next week and with the TOM FORD campaign coming up, the agency is worried,” Jonas says, meeting Isak’s eyes. They’ve been friends long enough to know that Jonas’s words are serious. That this  _ truly _ is a bad thing that shouldn’t have happened. “We can’t brush this off and disregard it as some drunk mistake unfortunately.”

(Isak tries to ignore how his heart jolts the word  _ mistake.  _ Which is what this entire thing was—a mistake. Right.)

“We don’t want both of you to be perceived negatively in any way,” Marianne adds. “So, both of us think it would make the most sense for you both to—” she pauses and clears her throat, like she wants to delay what she’s about to say, “—to play this out until everyone calms down.”

Isak frowns. “What does that mean?”

Jonas looks nervous as he also clears his throat, and Isak can tell this he’s not comfortable with what he’s about to say. “You both need to fake it.”

Even looks over to Marianne.“Fake what, exactly?”

Marianne takes a deep breath. “Fake being in a relationship.”

Isak stops breathing and everything is very still for a few minutes.

“What?!” Isak and Even both shout out. Marianne’s words are still ringing in Isak’s ears like someone had struck a gong right beside it. He can’t look near Even’s direction, because he feels scared and humiliated and confused, so he focuses on Jonas’s troubled face.

Marianne fiddles with her phone, her eyes shifting from Isak to Even. “We understand that this isn’t the most ideal—”

“This is ridiculous,” Even cuts her off, sounding very irritated.

“I’m going to give it to you both straight up,” Jonas says. “Both of you have good reputations that, unfortunately, you can’t risk tainting.” He takes a steady breath, clenching his jaw. “I read an article this morning that said Isak had hooked up with Even to get attention.”

Isak closes his eyes, because of course people are saying that. He’s kept up a pretty clean image for almost 2 years and everyone has grown suspicious—just waiting for him to mess up. Like he didn’t have to work to be where he’s at right now. Like he didn’t have to endure all the terrible things that come with being in the spotlight—always vulnerable to scrutiny, to accusations, to rumours.

“That’s fucking stupid, Isak would never do that with  _ anyone _ ,” Even spits out suddenly. Isak looks at him with widened eyes, surprised at how angry he sounds.

“And other people are speculating that because Even identifies as pansexual, he’s promiscuous and sleeps around, which—” Marianne pauses, trying to steady herself. “—which is absolutely disgusting and not true.”

Even scoffs, shaking his head like he’s dealt with these kinds of accusations before. Isak looks over at him and realizes that behind all the anger and confusion he must be feeling right now, Even seems sad at Marianne’s words. Isak’s heart aches and he wants to reach out to him, comfort him and yell at everyone who would even  _ think _ such a horrible thing about Even. He wonders how it must have felt having to be brave through all the bullshit that must’ve been thrown at him all these years.

“Even’s not like that,” Isak blurts out, and it’s the truth. Anger coils inside his stomach and he’s suddenly furious. Because no one understands how difficult it is to be famous. It’s not always glamorous as it’s chalked up to be—it’s hard, especially when people can say whatever they want about you and judge you however they please. Isak’s dealt with all of this, and it never gets easier no matter how many time Jonas tells him to ignore it, to block it out, to smile through it. But hearing Even be accused of something like that doesn’t sit right with him. It makes Isak want to scream at everyone who would even think of saying something hurtful to Even that they’re wrong, that they don’t know Even like he does. He meets Even’s eyes—those blue eyes that terrify him and calm him down at the same time. There’s a silent exchange between them.

_ Whatever happens, we do this together. _

*

Isak shuts the door behind Jonas and Marianne, who had to leave to prepare a contract and release statements. He lingers by the door for a minute, trying to process everything that has happened in the last 24 hours. Isak and Even got drunk, got papped making out with each other at a club and now they have to pretend to be boyfriends.  _ Boyfriends. _

“You okay?” Even asks from behind him and Isak realizes that he’s been standing by the door for too long.

Isak clears his throat, buying some time to muster up something in response. “Yeah, there’s just a lot happening.” 

“Yeah,” Even says quietly, “but um—we should probably talk.”

Isak nods before he walks back to the living room, Even silently following behind him. They sit across from each other, shuffling around on the couch to get comfortable. An awkward wave of silence falls between them and Isak is yet again unsure what he should say. Even bites his lower lip, something he does when he’s nervous—but Isak tracks the movement closely, remembering that those lips had been against his own just a couple of hours ago. A warm sensation flutters inside his stomach at the thought of how close they’d been. Even must have noticed Isak staring because he smirks, making Isak look at the ground.

“I’m a pretty good kisser, aren’t I?” Even asks smugly.

Isak blinks wondering how to navigate this conversation. “I don’t even remember it,” he lies because fuck everything, he’s taking the cowardice route.

Even nods slowly and there’s a flash of something that crosses his face. Almost like he’s disappointed at what Isak had said, but it’s gone in a blink of an eye. “Neither do I to be honest—at least, not mostly.”

Isak nods, (there’s a part of him that feels like Even might be lying but he doesn’t want to think about that right now). “We were just so drunk—”

“Fuck, I don’t even remember how many shots I took?”

“That was all your fault!”

“My fault? Mikael was the one who kept asking for more—”

“—you should realize that he never has good ideas. Remember that one time he dared you to jump into a lake, fucking naked, when it was freezing out?”

Even laughs.“Oh my god, I literally thought I was gonna get hypothermia.”

“You never thought, hmm, maybe I shouldn’t go skinny dipping in the winter?” Isak shakes his head disapprovingly, chuckling quietly.

“I was dared!”

“You have the right to refuse if it’s life threatening, Even! You could’ve died!”

“Would you have cried at my funeral? Sobbed because your favourite person has left the world?”

“More like rejoicing at the fact that I don’t have to deal with you all my life.”

“Your life would be boring without me.” Even grins, meeting Isak’s eyes again. It’s the truth and Isak hates admitting it. Hates admitting that Even’s brought him so much joy and excitement over stupid memes, over postcards, over late night conversations. Isak finds himself thinking about Even’s smile when everything around him is too much and nothing feels right, how he always feels better when he hears Even’s voice, how the blues of Even’s eyes relaxes him. But all of this is locked away somewhere Isak’s mind doesn’t visit often. It’s better not to think about it anyway.

Isak realizes that he’s been silent for too long when Even gets up from his seat.  “Jesus I still feel so hungover, have you had anything to eat this morning? I need coffee.” He walks over to the kitchen and starts rummaging through the cupboards to look for the coffee machine.

Isak’s stomach rumbles at the mention of breakfast. “Not yet.”

Even scoops a couple spoons of coffee from the bag into the machine before filling it with water. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I don’t make sure you’re eating properly?”

Isak completely stops breathing. Even must notice because he chuckles softly. “If we’re gonna do this you need to get used to calling me your boyfriend.”

Isak huffs out a laugh, “Right.” (There’s a small part of him that says  _ no, wrong, bad idea, _ but he blocks it out.)

“Let’s just take this completely chill and get it over with.”

“Yup, chill, I’m like the master of chill,” Isak agrees.

(He’s definitely not chill but he’s not going to admit that.)

Even laughs softly, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, defos, like how hard can this be?” Isak shrugs ignoring the small warning siren going off inside his head. “We’re friends, right?”

*

“You’ll tell me if it gets too much, right?” Even asks, standing by Isak’s door when he’s about to head out. Marianne had called him after breakfast, asking him stop by the office to go over some things, and it seemed like it would be a good idea for the both of them to have some time off to process all of it. Isak meets Even’s eyes, a striking shade of blue that reminds him of the clear summer sky. 

“Yeah,” Isak says quietly. “You need to tell me too.”

Even nods, suddenly pulling Isak into a hug. It’s quiet between them and Isak can’t help but bury his head into the crook of Even’s neck as he closes his eyes. He feels Even tighten their embrace and breathe in. This feels a lot more intimate than the kiss they had shared last night. Isak feels vulnerable, raw with emotions.

“Get some sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Even murmurs as they separate. He gives Isak one last look before he slips out, closing the door behind him.

Isak stays there for a really long time, listening to his heartbeat thrashing against his ribcage. There’s a million thoughts in his head, buzzing loudly and crashing against each other. It almost feels like the calm before a storm, like somehow it’s going to get even worse. Isak finally walks over to his bed and lays down, closing his eyes, seeking solace in sleep.

*

Jonas comes by later that night with a couple of bags of take out from Isak’s favourite sushi place in the city. They’ve gone over the contract, which had a lot of very intimidating and serious words like ‘effective immediately’ and ‘non-disclosure agreement’. Even is supposed to be attending the Balmain show Isak will be walking on Monday —their first appearance as a couple. Isak usually doesn’t get nervous until minutes before he has to be on the runway but the thought of Even watching him from the front row has his stomach churning and muscles tensing up. 

Sleeping had helped calm his nerves a bit and come to the slow understanding that now he has a boyfriend. A fake boyfriend by the name of Even Bech Næshiem who also happens to be his friend, who also happens to have made out with him. Yeah. Isak has  _ totally _ processed everything.

“Sorry about yelling at you earlier,” Jonas says, struggling to pick up a piece of sashimi with his chopsticks. “I had to deal with the shitshow back at the office.”

Isak deflates at the thought Jonas being yelled at and answering questions he didn’t have answers to, all because Isak had made  _ a stupid mistake _ .

(He doesn’t think about how calling this _ a stupid mistake _ makes it easier to cope with, makes it easier to swallow down than acknowledge any of it as being real.)

“No dude, fuck, I should be the one who’s saying sorry,” Isak insists. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I was drunk.” Because sober Isak would never think to kiss Even, never.

“As if you can do anything straight,” Jonas snorts.

Isak rolls his eyes but laughs anyway, slow feeling his tense muscles relax and the knots in his stomach loosen. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“I have a very good sense of humour, actually.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone we’re friends with!”

“They’re only being nice.”

“Fuck you,” Jonas chuckles, plopping a green bean into his mouth. “But uh—everything good between you and Even?”

Isak takes a minute to chew the piece of sushi inside his mouth, gulping it down to buy more time to answer his question. “Yeah, we’re good.”

*

Isak spends all of Sunday mostly sleeping and reading his novel. He turned his phone on an hour ago only to be bombarded by all the notifications that have been piling up for the last few days. Everyone is more or less shocked, which is expected. Isak hasn’t responded to any of the messages or called anyone back—he still hasn’t figured out what to say, if he’s being honest.

Around 3 o’clock, he tries to work up a sweat, focusing on his run and gripping the handles of his treadmill for support. Soon, Isak has to face everyone he’s been avoiding since Friday night: his friends, his fans, the damn press. For the first time in years Isak wishes he could reach out to his parents, lean on their love and support to get through all of it. But he pretty much has a nonexistent relationship with his dad since his parents got separated and his mom got admitted at psychiatric care facility out of state.

In another world, Isak’s relationship with his mom isn’t a complicated mess. Where he doesn’t feel like he’s walking on eggshells every time they talk. Where he isn’t afraid of mentioning something that’ll trigger an episode. Where they actually smile and laugh and have proper conversations. Isak doesn’t like thinking about it most of the time—because it isn’t her fault she’s ill. But in this minute, he wants to be that boy who needs to hold his mom’s hand because he’s scared of the world.

Isak’s thoughts are interrupted when his phone starts buzzing inside the little cup holder of the treadmill. He turns it off when he notices Even’s name flashing on the screen.  “Hello?”

“It’s sweet that I make you breathless,” Even teases.

“I was working out,” Isak rolls his eyes as he starts pacing around the room.

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’m not agreeing with it either.”

“I bet it’s all those bandanas I wear that get you all hot and bothered.”

“They do the complete opposite, actually,” Isak says, making Even laugh. It feels good to go back how they normally talk to each other.  

“I’ve never seen you walk on the runway before so I’m kind of excited,” Even says. “Nervous?”

“No,” Isak says quickly because he’s not going to admit the truth. (That he actually is nervous and scared he’ll trip in front of his boyfriend. His  _ fake _ boyfriend).

“You can do it,” Even encourages softly and Isak finds himself believing him for a minute. “But hey, we should figure out what we’re going to tell people—like about how we started dating and stuff.”

Isak stops mid-pace, allowing his mind to wrap around Even’s words. Because yes, to the rest of the world, Isak and Even are dating, like any other couple, who has a story of how they met, who had asked out who, when they shared their first kiss. “Yeah, we should figure that out.”

“Okay, how did it all start?” Even asks. “I know! You realized that you couldn’t refuse my irresistible charm and good looks so you showed up on set and confessed your love with a bouquet of roses.”

“I would never do all of that,” Isak deadpans. “That’s sounds like the extra shit you’d pull.”

“I’m not extra, I’m just romantic, which clearly you’re not.”

“I can be romantic!”

“Your idea of a date is to order in a pizza and binge watch all the  _ Planet Earth  _ documentaries.”

“David Attenborough has a very soothing voice.”

“You’re just a nerd.”

“And you’re not?”

“I never said I wasn’t. I just don’t deny it like you do.”

“At least I’m cool.”

“Oh yeah, I’m Isak Valtersen, I cry while watching romantic comedies and follow a million dog accounts on instagram,” Even mocks.

“I cried that  _ one time _ ,” Isak argues. “ _ Romeo + Juliet _ shouldn’t be labeled as a romantic comedy, they both fucking die!”

Even laughs and Isak can’t help but smile in response. “Okay, okay. Back on track—what made us finally fall for each other and start dating?”

“I don’t know,” Isak says lamely, fiddling with the strings attached to his hoodie. “Aren’t you a director? I thought you were creative.”

(He’s definitely  _ not _ evading answering the question. Even’s just more creative than he is. Yeah, that’s it.)

Even chuckles softly, “Maybe—,” he pauses for a minute and Isak hears him inhale, “—maybe somewhere along the way, we realized how well we fit together.”

Isak’s heart jolts, a rush of heat pooling in his stomach and shooting up his spine. Even’s words almost sound genuine, like that’s truly how it all unfolded, how they fell for each other.

Even clears his throat from the other side. “Does that sound convincing enough?”

And just like that, Isak’s reminded that this all supposed to be an act, something fake they have to keep up. “Yeah, that’s good.”

*

There’s a horde of journalists and photographers that have all crowded outside Isak’s apartment by the time he steps outside Monday evening. Luckily Jonas had arranged for security to escort him to and from the show today so he silently follows them into the car, eyes fixed on the ground. Once he’s inside the car, Isak closes his eyes, completely exhausted from having barely slept for 3 hours last night. To say he’s nervous would be an understatement—Isak’s on edge. He spent most of the day, trying to read, clean the house, and even tried cooking something for lunch—but nothing had helped calm his nerves. A lot of people are going to be at the show, designers, celebrities, models (particularly Magnus and Mahdi, his friends who have both sent him a lot of texts which he hasn’t answered yet) and of course, Even. He sent a text to Isak earlier saying that he has a meeting with his producers so they won’t be able to meet before the show starts.

In the 10 minutes it takes to get from his apartment in SoHo to the venue on the Upper East Side, his anxiety increases ten-fold. Isak inhales deeply before he unlocks the car door and steps out. He keeps his head down as he makes his way through the thick crowd of people that have gathered around the entrance of the building. He’s led inside by a woman, most likely the producer, to hair and makeup. Within a matter of minutes, Isak’s hair is gelled down and parted to the side, foundation and concealer slapped on his face, and then he’s whisked away to the fitting room.

He manages to get his pants on before a familiar voice calls out his name from behind. “Fucking hell, Isak is that you?”

Isak sighs, turning around to face none other than Magnus Fossbakken and Mahdi Disi, both giving him smug grins. He’d met both of them at a  _ Burberry _ campaign last year that they were all a part of. Magnus and Isak didn’t get along at first—Isak thinking Magnus was obnoxious and obtuse, Magnus thinking Isak was too uptight and egotistic. But they’d warmed up to each other after a while, having discovered their mutual for  _ Harry Potter _ and shared agreement that Sirius really didn’t deserve to die the way he did. Mahdi on the other, Isak got along with right away. Being a model of colour, Mahdi’s work ethic and passion was something he greatly admired. Isak loves how chill and easy going Mahdi is, always a good time every time they meet up.  

“Before you say anything—”

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Mahdi says.

“I was, like, convinced he was gonna die alone,” Magnus says.

Mahdi nods. “I mean, all he does is work.”

“So moody all the time.”

“The absolute worst in the morning.”

Magnus snorts. “Oh fuck do you remember that one time in Milan—”

Mahdi laughs, nodding. “Oh my god, he was so—”

“I’m literally right here!” Isak cries out, as Mahdi and Magnus both snicker quietly.

“Okay, but Even fucking Bech Næsheim? I’m shook,” Mahdi says.

Magnus hums in agreement. “Dude, he’s so hot, how the fuck did manage to you score him?”

Isak shifts nervously. This is it, this is where Magnus and Mahdi will find out that Isak certain didn’t  _ score _ Even (not that he wants to anyway) and that all of this a big sham he has to keep up. Fuck, he’s not even good at lying. “Um—”

“Because Even’s like  _ way  _ up there, you know and you—” Magnus sighs, “—well let’s just say he’s out of your league.”

Isak blinks, because  _ what. _ “The fuck?”  

Magnus laughs “Dude, I’m kidding! You’re both adorable, trust,” Magnus laughs.

“I’m just so happy that  _ you’ve  _ got someone to fuck, Isak,” Mahdi says seriously, reaching over to grip Isak’s shoulder.

“Fuck Even must be so good in bed, right? You know what they say about tall dudes,” Magnus smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Isak covers his face with his hands. “Oh my god.” This is  _ not  _ happening.

(And Isak absolutely  _ does not _ think about Even’s dick or how big it might be.)

He’s momentarily saved by the producer who had greeted him earlier at the entrance yelling at them to hurry and get ready for the line up. Isak, Magnus, and Mahdi quickly get into their first outfits and rush towards the area right behind the stage. Isak’s set to be the third and tenth model to walk on the show. He can hear the music starting up and the low chatter of the audience. Not even a minute goes by before Isak realizes that the two guys before him have already stepped off, which means he’s next.

Isak takes a deep breath, leans his head back and starts walking. His first outfit is a white, double-breasted shirt underneath a black blazer that’s draped over his shoulder. Isak concentrates on his feet—right, left, right, left—until he’s almost halfway through the runaway and out of the corner of his eye notices Even, sat front row, beaming at him. He reaches the end and promptly turns around to walk back and this time, Even meets his eyes. Isak’s surprised that he doesn’t trip right then, but it’s a near thing.

He’s quickly ushered into the dressing room again and instructed to wear the next set of clothes. This time, Isak’s modeling a sweater with slanted black and white stripes paired with white skinnies and a clunky belt. Magnus and Mahdi have already finished by the time he’s back on the runway again. He notices Even takes out his phone this time when Isak passes by him, grinning at him through the screen. Despite the fact that Isak models for a living and is more often in front of a camera than not, he always gets shy when Even takes pictures of him. Which he does  _ all  _ the time, much to Isak’s dismay. Isak doesn’t even realize Even’s taken a picture of him until months later when he gets it in a text with some stupid caption like  _ cheekbones so sharp they could kill a man. _

He somehow manages to finish his walk and make it backstage where the producer directs everyone to get back into line. All the models display their last outfit again before the designer has them walk down the runway to conclude the show.

This is always a moment of conflict for Isak—on one hand, he’s happy and relieved that the show is finished, but on the other, something he doesn’t dare tell anyone, he can’t help ask himself—is this it? Is he always just going to be a  _ part _ of someone else’s dream—a designer, a creative director, a brand—and never accomplish his own? Isak enjoys modeling, he does. But there’s no point in pretending that he got into it because he’s passionate about it, because he’s not. Isak models because most of the time it’s an easy gig and there are definite perks. (But most of all, he does it to escape from all the problems that plague his life—like how he refuses to meet with his dad, always feigning the same excuse of having to travel everywhere for jobs—or taking so many projects that he doesn’t have to think about the fact that he hasn’t had a proper conversation with his mom in years.)

Isak doesn’t realize that he’s walked backstage and the show’s over until all the models enthusiastically cheer beside him. The producer instructs everyone to change and head out if they’d like since they’re done for the night.

“Congrats, babe,” Even’s voice surprises him from behind. Isak turns around and almost opens his mouth in awe—Even looks so fucking good. He has his hair down for once (which upsets Isak greatly because it makes him look unbelievably soft and cuddly). Even’s dressed in all black tonight (which really brings out the blue in his eyes, Isak begrudgingly notes). “That was pretty amazing.”

Isak blinks. “Uh—thanks.” He pauses. “Babe.” because they’re  _ boyfriends _ who have called each other ‘babe’ many times.

(It’s not like Isak’s heart just jolted when Even said that earlier either. It’s chill. He’s chill.)

Even chuckles quietly, placing his hand on Isak’s waist and pulling him into a hug. “You looked so good today,” he whispers, making Isak shiver involuntarily.

“Holy fuck, it’s Even,” Magnus shouts, walking up to them with Mahdi in tow. Isak was hoping they’d leave before these two caught up with them. “Come on Isak, introduce us to your boyfriend.”

“Um—” Isak starts, “—Even, Magnus and Mahdi. Mahdi and Magnus, Even.”

Even smiles brightly shaking Magnus and Mahdi’s hand, “it’s lovely to meet you all. Great show!”

“Thanks, but hey have you ever considered modeling?” Magnus asks, “you definitely have the looks for it.”

Even laughs, clearly amused. (Isak, on the other hand, is not amused.) “Nah, I think I’ll stick to directing movies.”

“Dude all your movies are so great, they’re so well thought out,” Mahdi praises and Isak can’t help but nod in agreement because despite everything, Even’s good at what he does.

Even smiles shyly at Mahdi. “Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

“Okay but for real, what’s the catch? Is Isak paying you to date him?” Magnus asks.

(A part of him wants to punch Magnus in the face for thinking Isak would have to  _ pay  _ Even to date him, but another, more anxious part of him knows Magnus is certainly right about there being some sort of catch to this. The catch being Isak and Even are pretending to be boyfriends. The key word being  _ pretending _ here.)

“No catch. Isak’s pretty amazing,” Even says, winking at him.

(Isak’s heart  _ does not  _ stutter at that, it  _ doesn’t _ .)

“I bet he’s really kinky in bed to compensate for his boring ass personality,” Mahdi teases.

“Oh my god, Mahdi!” Isak exclaims in horror. Even looks entirely too amused by this whole ordeal.

“Maybe he sold his soul to the devil just so he can touch your abs,” Magnus smirks, “because you have some great abs dude, how do you work out?”

Even’s leaning his head back, howling with laughter at this point and Isak wants to punch him too.

“I promise it’s none of those,” Even says, still giggling a bit. “Although, I think he’s just secretly into my bandana collection and I thought that was adorable.”

“I hate all of you,” Isak scowls as all of them burst into a fit of giggles.

*

As expected, Even charms everyone backstage, even managing to make the producer, who had only been shouting and ordering people around, giggle. Isak tries, okay—tries his absolute hardest  _ not to _ fall for Even’s silly little jokes or his annoyingly attractive smile or the way he runs his fingers through his hair to push it back. But by the end of the night, Isak can’t help but gaze at Even quietly, wondering just how brightly he shines, like a cluster of stars at night.

(And then Isak has to stop because  _ did he just compare even to a bunch of stars? _ )

“I have a car waiting outside so I can drop you off if you’d like?” Even asks.

“Yeah that’d be great, thanks.”

Even nods, extending his hand towards Isak. “Alright, you ready?”

Isak breathes out slowly and takes it, tangling their fingers together. Even’s hands are soft and Isak feels his thumb gently caressing his own, like he’s trying to soothe the tense muscles underneath. They’ve never held hands before let alone laced their fingers together. (It really shouldn’t feel as comforting as it does but lately Isak’s been feeling all sorts of things for Even—things that  _ obviously _ friends feel for other friends. Because you know. Isak and Even are friends in an awkward situation where they have to pretend to be boyfriends. The word ‘pretend’ being key here.)

Even leads them out, Isak following closely behind him. It’s like stepping into a different world because as soon as they’re out of the building, they get swarmed by paparazzi. Camera flashes go off left and right almost giving Isak whiplash, so he focuses on looking at the ground and letting Even guide them towards the car.

Once they’re inside, Isak realizes that he’s still holding Even’s hand so he quickly pulls them away (because they really  _ shouldn’t _ hold hands longer than absolutely necessary).

“That was...intense,” Even says quietly and Isak comes to a very clear realization. Even’s probably just as, if not even more, overwhelmed with everything than he is. Isak’s been so busy worrying about himself that he’s forgotten how it might feel for Even given the circumstances. He feels terrible—Even never has to deal with the press as much Isak has to. It should have been him walking them out. It should have been Isak protecting Even.

“I’m sorry,” Isak blurts out.

Even frowns. “What for?”

“Like—I should have gone out first, you’re not used to all of this like I am,” Isak says, frustrated with himself for not knowing better. “I’m an idiot—jesus, I should have gone out first.”

“Isak, what—,” Even places his fingers under Isak’s chin and turns his head around to face him. It’s dark out, but the blue of Even’s eyes never fail to calm his heart once he meets them. “Listen, you’re right, I’m not used to it, but—” Even pauses, “—I was worried about you.”

Isak’s heart leaps all of a sudden. He blinks, trying to figure out how to respond. But Even breaks the silence between them. “We’re in this together, right?”

“Yeah,” Isak whispers and maybe it’s the rush of energy he gets every time they have moments like these—moments that he doesn’t like thinking about for a long time, afraid that they might mean something different than what they are. “We are.”

Even gives him a small smile before he fishes out his phone and earphones. He wordlessly offers Isak the left one, scrolling through the songs to decide on one. They always do this—listen to music silently when there’s nothing left to say.

_ All I knew this morning when I woke, is I know something now, know something now I didn’t before. _

“Taylor Swift? Seriously?” Isak scoffs.

Even laughs. “Yes, now shut up and listen.”

_ I just want to know you better, know you better, know you better now.  _

Isak rolls his eyes and looks out the window. The sky is a blazing orange as the sun dips below the horizon. The bustle of the city hasn’t slowed down as people rush to get home after a long day of work. After a while Isak feels Even place his head against his shoulder.

“I’m tired,” Even says quietly, letting out a yawn. “Let me borrow your shoulder for a bit.”

“You’re heavy,” Isak whispers but adjusts himself so that Even can rest against his chest.

_ And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies, the beautiful kind, making up for lost time, taking flight, making me feel like. _

Isak finds himself running his fingers through Even’s hair before he even realizes it—but he’s just so exhausted and Even doesn’t seem to mind, so he just stops thinking for a minute.

_ ‘Cause all I know is we said hello, and your eyes look like coming home. _

Isak feels his eyelids drooping so he leans against Even’s head because it’s just  _ right  _ there and it’s  _ convenient  _ and he’s too worn out to come up with better excuses.

_ You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours. All I know since yesterday, is everything has changed. _

*

By the time car reaches Isak’s apartment, Even wakes him up gently. “We’re here.”

Isak rubs his eyes. “Ugh, I’m so sleepy.”

“I could carry you up.”

“No thank you,” Isak huffs indignantly, stepping out of the car and then leaning inside. “Do you wanna come up?”

“Nah, I have an early call tomorrow morning. Get some rest,” Even says, smiling at him. He blows Isak a kiss before the car pulls out (which  _ does not _ make him blush, it doesn’t.)

Isak fumbles with his key for a minute before finally slotting it in and stepping inside. He toes off his shoes and doesn’t even bother changing his clothes before crawling into bed. Sleep finds him a few minutes later and it’s not until early next morning that he wakes up, blurry eyed and still very exhausted. By instinct, Isak reaches for his phone, and notices a new notification on instagram.

**_evenbechn **æ** s has tagged you in a photo._ **

It’s a photo of Isak walking down the runway at yesterday’s Balmain show. The caption reads:  **_proud of my baby @isakyaki, always looking so good <3_ ** _. _ He almost drops his phone on his face at Even casually calling him  _ baby _ of all things (which is much more intimate than babe, and Isak’s heart doesn’t not leap at the thought of it). Isak stares at the picture for a few minutes, trying to think of what to do next. The thing is,  _ this is all an act _ —Even’s just doing his part. So he does his part too, quickly typing up a comment saying ‘ **@evenbechnæs thanks baby <3** ’.

_ It’s all an act,  _ Isak convinces himself. (But why does a little part of him think that it isn’t?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —the Taylor Swift song fit their situation _so_ perfectly, I had to include it. I hope you enjoyed this bit, expect the next update next week around the same time (hopefully, unless I get busy with work). I'm on tumblr at [vanqoh](http://vanqoh.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat! Comments and kuddos are always appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while, apologies for that, I was in a terrible mindset the week I was supposed to be posting it—some stuff happened which seriously impacted my writing flow so I needed to step back and rest for a little bit. But I hope you enjoy this bit and wait is worth it :) I'm going to going into a long rant and a few thank yous to some very deserving people, so if y'all wanna skip this bit and get to the goods, feel free to do so! 
> 
> @[eiqhties](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eiqhties/pseuds/eiqhties), an amazing writer who's work I fell in love with and have become friends with in just a few weeks, thank you for looking for this and being so incredibly kind with your comments, suggestions, and compliments. You're such a lovely writer and a wonderful person, from one writer to another, thank you for taking the time to teach me, even if it was just with your edits, how to do this. 
> 
> @[Bleeding_Emerald](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleeding_Emerald/pseuds/Bleeding_Emerald), Annika, who is literally the sweetest person ever, thank you for looking over it and loving the story. Your edits helped me a lot and I hope that it wasn't too stressful for you, but honestly you always make me so speechless with your tags, your comments, I don't even know how to write this thank you <3 
> 
> //now, on to my rant: folks, I don't want to repeat what I've already said in the last chapter, but please treat the authors of this fandom with respect and kindness. Without them, I don't know what I'd do, because now that SKAM has finished, the hole that it left in my heart is being slowly and surely filled with the wonderful stories from the writers of this fandom. They truly are amazing <3

Photos of Isak and Even, hands laced together, leaving the Balmain show, inevitably spread like wildfire all over the internet. As expected, several articles and headlines with questionable details surface up. Of course, Even’s instagram post seems to have added more noise, with all of Isak’s friends sending him several text messages, varying from amusement to taunts.

**Magnus:** DUDE EVEN IS SO CUTE, HOW DID YOU GET SO LUCKY, IM SHOOK

**Sana:** When did this even happen?! Actually, better question: how did this happen?!

**Mahdi:** bro, he’s a keeper  <3

**Eskild:** Oh my god Isak

I knew there was something going on between you and Even ;)

I’m tearing up - look at you, growing up and getting a hot boyfriend

I’m a proud father *tear emoji*

you’re using that serum, right?

It was only short while before it all got so intense that Isak couldn’t ignore his texts or calls anymore—as he responds to each one of them, what started off as a stunt to keep the media frenzy at bay, becomes something else.

Now, Isak has to _lie_ to people close to him—he can’t tell them that he was _pretending_ to be Even’s boyfriend, that none of this is _real._

He looks down at his phone again. His thumb hovers over the number of the care facility where Anette Valtersen is currently residing in. It’s been a couple of months since Isak’s been down there—and it’s been even longer since him and his mom have talked. He paces in his bedroom, still debating whether or not to call, slowly watching the minutes and seconds pass by until he has to head out to his next show.

*

New York fashion week goes by quickly when you’re walking at least two shows a day. It provides a nice distraction for him from having to think about how he can dodge questions about his _relationship_ with Even, from having to think about the day someone finds out.

(He _doesn’t_ think about the day this will have to end, or how he’s going to feel about it.)

Isak’s about to go to sleep when his phone buzzes beside him. “Hello?”

“Hey, I know you’re tired, but we have to talk about tomorrow,” Jonas says from the other side.

“Ugh, don’t tell me I’m booked in for a show? That’s too last minute and honestly, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“No, no—it’s the date we have planned. For you and Even.”

Isak sits up, because _oh right,_ “Okay.”

Even’s been busy himself, getting ready to for his movie release, sitting in interviews and setting up promotional events. They’ve only sporadically texted since the Balmain show, and many of those were random pictures with equally random captions.

Jonas sighs, “It’s pretty chill, we just thought you both should grab dinner before you’re off to Milan.”

Isak nods, “Yeah, that’s chill.”

(Because, you know, he’s completely taking this whole thing _chill._ He’s _chill._ )

“Marianne’s already told Even. We’re gonna have you pick him up from work tomorrow. I’ll send over a car.”

“Sounds good.”

Jonas hums, “And things are okay? With you and Even?”

Isak takes a minute to think about Jonas’s words. There’s a part of him that wants to acknowledge how there are these— _feelings_ —or _something_ that have surfaced recently. He’s been too tired to think them through, decipher exactly how they lead to Even. But there’s an even bigger part of him—the more conscious and alert side—that takes over immediately and chases those thoughts away.

Isak coughs, “Yeah, yeah, we’re fine.”

“Okay bro, I’ll let you sleep then it’s Milan. Woo,” Jonas cheers quietly.

Isak huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, okay, night.”

“Night.”

Isak quickly sets up an alarm for tomorrow morning and puts his phone on silent. For a moment, he tries to close his eyes and sleep, tries to allow the tension to seep out of his bones. It doesn’t work. Isak tosses and turns for the next ten minutes, reads a couple of pages of _The Book Thief_ , scrolls through his Instagram and Twitter feed—but nothing _helps._ He could go for a swim in the pool downstairs, but that would require going outside and leaving the comfort of his own bed.

In times like this, when he can’t sleep, his body rigid with nerves, he calls Even. It’s a thing they do—among many other _things_ they share between them, which is why they get along as well as they do, (yeah, that’s it.)

Sometimes, when Even’s had a rough day at shooting, or Isak’s had an annoying encounter with a designer who comments on the fact that he should gain more muscle or lose more weight—they find solace in each other; talking and laughing with each other until sleep catches up to them.

Isak hasn’t thought of these conversations as something _special_ . It’s not like he hasn’t called Jonas, or sometimes even Sana or Eskild, when he’s itching to unload what’s on his mind. But conversations with Even somehow feel _different_ —he can’t pinpoint it.

Maybe it’s the way Even always, _always_ , picks up his phone and never lets it go to voicemail, even when he’s busy. Maybe it’s the way Isak feels completely at ease after they hang up. Maybe it’s the way Even’s voice soothes the heaviness sitting on his chest, the strain of his muscles after a long day of being at war with the world, with himself.  

(He really shouldn’t call him—considering Even himself may or may not be the cause of his problem right now.)

So, Isak considers it for all of two seconds before groaning into his pillow in defeat and reaching for his phone. He _totally_ blames the force of habit for this one.  

Even picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” Even says quietly, “Can’t sleep?”

Isak really, _really,_ wants to say something snarky back—but he’s too tired, “Yeah, did I wake you?”  

Even laughs quietly. “You did. But it’s okay, what’s on your mind?”

(Isak must be seriously exhausted, because he finds his heart quickening it’s pace at how deep Even’s voice sounds right now—and it’s not like this happens _every time_ Isak hears Even’s sleepy voice).  

Isak shifts so he’s lying on his stomach (so his heart doesn’t just jump out of his chest), “I don’t know—fuck, I just _can’t_ sleep.”

“How about I talk about what happened at work and you listen?”

“Oh, that’ll definitely put me to sleep.”

“Grumpy Isak makes a comeback.”

“Whatever—tell me about your boring day, then.”

“Well I had a _really_ good day actually. A fan sent me a later about Noora’s character in _Under the Stars_ and I almost cried,” Even says quietly, but it gets Isak’s attention.

_Under the Stars_ is the movie Even’s directing that’s set to release in a couple of weeks—and there’s no point in denying that Isak has been impatiently waiting to see it ever since the trailer came out. Even and his team have kept all the details very secret, so Isak knows as much about the movie as any regular person who’s replayed the trailer about a hundred times.

It’s the story of Juniper, played by actress Eva Kviig Mohn, and Rose, played by actress Noora Sætre, both of whom Isak met last year at the party Even held when the trailer launched. Juniper and Rose are childhood best friends who decide to backpack across Europe and ultimately fall in love with each other. The trailer had been vignettes of their trip—the haze and drawl of summer, the tension between the two girls growing every second, their laughs, their kisses, their embraces—Isak was in awe.

Of course, it wouldn’t be an Even Bech Næshiem movie if it didn’t deal with difficult subject matters. In the story, Rose is described to have an eating disorder and Juniper deals with abusive parents. Inevitably, the whole thing has racked up a lot of controversy, but Even has been eloquent as ever and stood his ground. Isak has never been so proud of another human being in his life—despite what anyone says, Even’s vision is brilliant.

“Oh yeah?” Isak whispers, “What did the letter say?”

Even is silent for a long time before he responds. “She wrote that she identified with Rose, in that she has an eating disorder and has been struggling for a really long time. But, after listening to an interview I did where I talked about Rose’s character and what she’s been through, she finally felt represented and, she said that she’s excited to see the movie when it comes out.”

Isak smiles, “That’s so great, I’m proud of you.” He hears Even’s breath hitch before exhaling shakily. (In that moment, Isak realises that he’s forgotten all about his own anxieties and instead has a sudden urge to give Even a hug.)

“Thanks,” Even whispers and Isak can hear the slight smile in his voice. “We have that dinner thing on Friday, right? Marianne sent me an email earlier today.”

Isak turns to the opposite side of the bed and grabs for his ear phones. “Yup.”

(He really needs to _stop_ being weird about this. Isak and Even are fake boyfriends. It’s a thing that’s happening. It’s chill. So chill.)

Even hums, “You can decide on the restaurant, I don’t want to deal with your ridiculously picky sense of taste.”

Isak scoffs, “I’m not picky.”

“Ya-huh.”

“Na-uh.”

“Remember that one time we went to the Italian restaurant and you almost pissed off the chef?”

“Listen, truffles are actually disgusting, why the fuck do people think it tastes good?”

“It’s a quintessential ingredient for fine dining, Isak.”

“Fine dining my ass—that shit tastes nasty.”

“There’s more to life than cheeseburgers and curly fries.”

“I’m a simple man.”

“Don’t you mean you have the palette of a child?”

“I’m not some bougie hipster like you.”

“‘Bougie hipster’—I like that,” Even laughs.

(And of course Isak’s heart does that _thing_ in response.)

“Of course you do, that’s who you are,” Isak deadpans.

Even laughs, again. Isak’s heart reacts to it, again. ( _Damn you,_ he thinks.) “Okay but I have to tell you this really weird thing that happened on set one time…”

Isak allows himself to get lost in Even’s voice—at how tranquil it sounds, like the gentle waves rolling up and down the shore. He falls asleep dreaming of the blue in Even’s eyes.

*

When Isak wakes up, blurry eyed and disorientated, his phone is dead beside him and the clock that hangs on his wall reminds him that he’s late for his boxing lesson. He almost falls out of bed in the haste of getting up quickly to get ready to go.

In the next five minutes, Isak runs around his apartment in search for his Mophie and gym bag. It isn’t until he’s rushing downstairs to meet his driver, profusely apologizing for the delay, that Isak realizes he must have fallen asleep talking to Even last night.

Once his phone comes back to life, Isak realizes that Even’s sent a text at around 2:00 AM.

  **Even:** Hey, you must have fallen asleep and your phone died or something. Hope you feel better tomorrow, darling  <3

He should really be used to Even calling him things like _darling_ and _babe_ (and _baby_ —which makes his toes tingle and heart race—but no one needs to know that) by now. But it feels _different_ now—more intimate (more real).

Isak shakes off those thoughts and quickly types out a response.

**Isak:** hey yes my phone died, thanks for talking to me last night, have a great day! :)

He frowns—the text sounds awfully formal and Even’s definitely going to call him out on it - and he does not two minutes later.

**Even:** What’s wrong with you? Now i’m actually concerned, did you just text ‘have a great day’? With an exclamation point and a smiley face???

**Isak:** …i was being nice

**Even:** that’s not normal

**Isak:** fuck you

**Even:** There it is! grumpy isak is what I’m used to. Don’t scare me like that.

**Isak:** i’m actually so done with you, bye

**Even:** our banter is back :D

Isak rolls his eyes and pockets his phone once he realizes that they’ve reached Gotham Gym. As soon as he goes through the doors that lead to the boxing ring, he sees Chris Berg leaning against the ropes, sporting a very unimpressed look while tapping her left wrist impatiently.

“You’re late, Valtersen,” She sighs, “Fame’s gotten to you.”

Isak pouts, “I’m sorry, my phone died and so I didn’t hear my alarm this morning.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Chris tuts and nods towards the changing room, “Get changed, I won’t go easy on you today.”

“Got it, boss,” Isak smiles and fist bumps her before walking towards the changing room doors across the room.

Chris has been his trainer since before he even started modeling. Jonas and Isak met Chris when she was just starting off as a trainer at a much smaller gym in the Bronx a couple of years ago. It had started as an awkward one sided crush, with Chris practically eye-fucking Isak every moment they were together at the gym, but slowly it transformed into an amazing friendship that’s lasted for years.

Chris became Isak’s personal trainer at Gotham, vowing to get him—as she referred to it— _looking like Michelangelo has carved you himself._

Chris starts Isak off first with a quick warm up before they start their session on the ring. He takes off his shirt halfway through, earring an appreciative glance and a low whistle from Chris.

“I did good,” She says proudly when they’re cooling off.

Isak laughs, nodding—he can’t deny that he’s in incredible shape right now. With the Calvin Klein shoot nearing very soon, he’s been concentrating on making sure he has his six-pack ready.

“So what’s this I hear about you dating Even Bech Næshiem?” She asks. Isak swallows his water too soon, leading to a coughing fit.

“Yeah—that’s a thing,” Isak clears his throat, “It kinda just happened?”

“Honestly, I was just waiting until you came to your senses and just asked him out already.”

Isak blinks. “What do you mean?”

Chris rolls her eyes, “Literally everyone knows you’re into him, dumbass, you’re not exactly subtle about it.”

“We’re just friends though!” Isak blurts out before he can stop himself.

 “What?”

“I mean—” Isak gulps, wracking his brain to think of something to say, “—Like, we were friends… before… we started dating…”

Chris gives him a confused look, “Yeah I know, but I’m just glad you got your shit together.”

Isak laughs awkwardly, “Yeah.”

Thankfully, Chris moves onto another topic before he has to leave for his next show.

He tries to process Chris’s words— _literally everyone knows you’re into him_ — _you’re not exactly subtle about it._ Objectively speaking, it’s impossible for anyone _not_ to be into Even, he’s stupidly charming and impresses everyone. Objectively speaking, they are close friends and sometimes it can seem that they’re much closer than they are. So—it’s maybe Chris is seeing things, yeah that’s it. But her words cloud his mind the entire day.

 *

Isak’s ready to sleep for two days by the time he finishes the Marc Jacob’s show that night. He’s sitting in his car when he checks his phone and notices a couple of messages from Even and Jonas. He thumbs open Even’s first (because, whatever, okay?)

**Even:** Hey I think I have the flu?? The doctor came by earlier and told me to rest and stay home so no dinner :((( I was really looking forward to it.

Isak quickly taps on Even’s number.

“Hello?” Even says, sounding very sick with a blocked nose.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Isak says, concern colouring his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I just have that flu going around, I just need to stay home and sleep.”

“Jesus Even, you didn’t take the flu shot?”

“I never take those!”

“You getting the flu is why you need to take them,” Isak sighs as Even groans in response. “I’m coming over, do you need anything?”

“No you don’t—”

“I’m coming over, text me what you need, I need to call Jonas.”

Even sniffs, (and no Isak does _not_ find it completely adorable, he _does not_ ). “Okay. I told Marianne and she probably told Jonas, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for this shit, we’ll figure out something, see you soon. Don’t die.”

Even laughs and hangs up. Isak calls Jonas this time.  “Hey, I just talked to Even.”

“Okay great, poor dude, caught the flu.”

“I told him so many times this year to take the flu shot,” Isak huffs.

“I didn’t even take mine,” Jonas admits.

“What the hell? Watch, you’re gonna get the flu next.”

“Isak, literally no one takes them.”

“I do.”

“‘Cause you’re extra.”

“That’s Even, actually.”

“Yeah you’re both extra, that’s why you two get along.”

Isak rolls his eyes, “Okay whatever, listen, I’m heading over to Even’s place and see if he needs anything and stuff. I haven’t even fucking packed for Milan yet.”

“Yeah, that's good. Actually, why don’t you head over to Even’s place and stay there until we leave for Milan? I hate to say this, but it’ll be good publicity for both of you. You can post some Insta thing about your boyfriend being sick and you taking care of him.”

Isak considers this. This would mean he would have to sleep at Even’s place—which he’s done many times so it really shouldn’t be a problem. They’re chill with each other. It’ll be fine. “That’s terrible. You’re terrible.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who got drunk and got caught by the paparazzi making out with a friend.”

Isak’s eye twitches at the word _friend_ , “Touché.”

“Life’s hard,” Jonas mocks.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, bro.”

 *

Isak goes home and shoves some random clothes into his suitcase. He grabs his book, which he left sitting on top of his bed, before shrugging on his baseball cap and sunglasses.

Isak used to go out unescorted all the time, but that was before his face got plastered all over Time’s Square. He texts Jonas for a car, letting him know that he’ll be stopping in a couple of stores before he gets to Even’s.

As he’s about to head out through the door, his phone buzzes.

**Even:** hi, can you get green tea for me and maybe a nasal spray?

**Isak:** Okay, I’m leaving now, just text me if you want anything else.

**Even:** you’re the best, ily  <3

(Isak _does not_ blush at a fucking _heart emoji_.)

*

Isak goes to Duane Reade and carefully reads the labels of all of the nasal sprays. He even consults with the pharmacist on which one is most effective when you have the flu. Just in case, he get’s a bottle of Advil and little container of Vicks, for if Even has headaches.

Walking across the street, Isak enters Whole Foods, quickly grabbing the ingredients for one of the few things he can actually cook—the chicken noodle soup that his mom used make for him when he got sick.

Isak starts to feel a bit nostalgic as reaches for onions, chicken breasts, and celery. His mom made the broth out of scratch—which is much too complicated for Isak to make, but he misses it. He misses those days when he’d come from school and hug his mom tight as they talked about his day.

A text from Even pulls him back from his thoughts.

**Even:** hi, sorry, can you also get some sugar, i’ve run out

**Isak:** yeah that’s fine, did you eat anything?

**Even:** i had a toast i think

**Isak:** i’ll make chicken noodle soup when i get there

**Even:** OH MY GOD THAT’S MY FAVOURITE SOUP

I should get sick more often, you’re being so nice to me :D

**Isak:** next time, i’ll leave you to die

**Even:** you wouldn’t  <3

Isak sighs, shoving his phone in his pocket and looking for the pasta. The first Even tried his soup, he demanded that Isak make it for him all the time. Thinking back, Isak had felt so proud to have someone like Even, who has a passion for cooking, _like_ —no _love_ something Isak had made. He grabs a packet of bow-tie pasta, because Even is actually two years old and finds joy in the most childish things.

Before Isak checks out, he grabs the green tea he knows Even likes, cubed sugar, and a couple bars of Fairtrade and organic dark chocolates, because it’s futile arguing with Even about it. Isak also slides in two sheet-masks because they always help him when he’s feeling sick—something Eskild had introduced him to.

Beside the cash register there’s a large cart of flowers—and maybe it’s because he’s fucking exhausted from the rush of the week, or that they were on sale, or that they were _Fairtrade_ —but in the last minute, he snatches a bouquet of yellow roses before he pulls out his credit card to pay.

(Isak knows the flowers will make Even smile. Maybe the yellow of the flowers reminds him of how Even just _glows,_ like the sun, when he smiles.)

 *

Isak is greeted at the door by Sam the concierge, who recognizes him immediately and lets him up to Even’s place.

He gets off the elevator and knocks. A minute later, he hears Even padding over towards the door.

“Hi,” Even murmurs, sniffling and stepping aside to let Isak in. Even’s taste and personality was obvious throughout his apartment—a mishmash of odd and quirky items, colourful and full of patterns, plants in every corner.

Isak takes a minute to take Even in. He looks properly unwell—hunched over, his hair in disarray, face and nose red. He’s dressed in a grey oversized hoodie and some baggy sweat pants. Even’s wearing his glasses, which he only ever does when he’s _absolutely exhausted_ and can’t be bothered with contacts. It makes him look a lot younger (and cute—but that’s not important).

“What’s all this?” Even asks, gesturing to Isak’s shopping bags.

“Hi,” Isak walks over to the kitchen, Even following behind him quietly. “I grabbed a few things, go sit down, I’ll get the soup ready in a bit.”  

Even hums, still lingering behind Isak as the younger boy unloads everything into the kitchen counter. “Wait—are those roses? Did you get me flowers?”

Isak hesitates—he’d almost forgotten about them. _Shit, think fast Valtersen._ “Yeah—Jonas told me to get them, figure it would make a good Instagram post.”

A flash of hurt crosses over Even’s face but it’s replaced with an amused look a second later, “They’re nice. Thank you.”

Isak nods awkwardly, not knowing what to say next—so he just shoves the bags with the Advil, nasal spray, chocolate, and face masks into Even’s chest.

Even laughs quietly, “Isak Valtersen, did you make me a care package?”

Isak’s face heats up, “No. Whatever—I can make some tea while I get the soup ready?”

Even gives him a blinding smile, “You’re the best fake boyfriend, I feel so grateful.”

Isak’s heart jolts—it’s been doing that a lot lately at Even's words. His stomach twists in knots and he tells himself to _breathe,_ “Just go lie down, I’ll be done soon.”

Even gives him a bright smile and takes the flowers with him to the living room. In the next few minutes, Isak concentrates on chopping up the vegetables and filling the kettle with water for the tea.

This is normal. Taking care of friends when they’re sick is normal. Even’s done it many times—sure, it may be Isak’s first time really taking care of _him_ , but it’s all the same. They’re just in an awkward arrangement at the moment, which must be what’s making everything so _strange_ lately.

Yeah, that’s _totally_ it.

*

Isak brings over the cup of tea to Even, who’s lying down on one of his bottle green couches that he got from some antique store in the city.

“You’re a godsend,” Even says sitting up and happily taking a sip from his mug.

Isak plops down beside him and, instinctively rests his palm on Even’s forehead to feel his temperature. “You’re still burning up,” he frowns.

“ _Cause I’m burnin’ up, I’m burnin’ up, baby,_ ” Even sings but it comes out all nasly and completely out of tune.

“Are you singing a Jonas brother’s song? Oh my god.”

“ _Slippin’ into the lava, and I’m trying to keep going under, baby who turned the temperature hotter._ ”

“This is really happening. I’m embarrassed on your behalf.”

Even giggles into his mug and winks, “I was serenading you because you’re being so nice to me today.”

Isak frowns. “Am I like inherently mean to you or something? I’m always nice.”  

“I know,” Even says gently, “I’m just glad you’re here, I was having shit time all day.”

Isak’s breath hitches—his body is truly against him today. Even just looks so soft, and tired, and wrung out from blowing his nose all day—Isak can’t help but want to _protect and take care_ of him _._

(Because, you know, they’re friends.)

“I think the soup’s ready,” Isak mumbles getting up and walking over to the kitchen. Thankfully the soup does end up being almost finished, so he grabs Even’s yellow ceramic bowl and another blue one for himself and ladles in couple spoonfuls of hot soup. He carries them over to where Even’s still sitting down. He’s blowing his nose, and a large pile of used tissues have appeared beside him.

Even takes his bowl and smiles at it, “Fuck, bless you, Isak.”

Isak feels his heart swell in pride—it’s not everyday he can gets complimented about his, albeit, mediocre cooking skills. Even let’s out an appreciative moan after he takes his first sip making Isak choke and almost drop his bowl of soup.

“You even got me bow-tie pasta,” Even says gleefully, “you remembered.”

Isak rolls his eyes, “Yeah ‘cause you won’t shut up about how much you like them.”

“You still remembered, thank you, this is amazing.”

“No worries,” Isak says shyly, clearing out his throat.

Even digs into his soup happily and Isak watches him from the corner of his eyes, his heart thrumming steadily.

 *

Thirty minutes later, Even has his head on Isak’s lap (which—just happens _naturally_ , so there’s nothing to do about it) watching _Tangled_ on the TV as Isak reads his novel. Both of them are wearing a sheet mask.

“These are actually amazing,” Even admits.

Isak nods, “Face masks solve every problem, honestly.”

“Has it been ten minutes, yet?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Isak says as he checks the time on his phone.

He takes off his sheet mask and then silently asks for Even’s before shoving them into the packet it came from, too lazy to get up and discard it away. Isak lies back, resting his head against the couch as he gently cards his through Even’s greasy hair.

Even hums appreciatively in response, “I literally love it when people touch my hair.”

(Isak feels a pang of jealously at the thought of someone else touching Even’s hair—and then he has to let his mind step back because _now is now the time to be thinking of these things._ )

“You need a shower, it’s oily.”

Even turns over and presses his face into Isak’s stomach, “I’m too tired.”

Isak freezes and tells himself to be _calm._ It’s not like Even’s face is like two inches away from his dick—which has a mind of it’s own and Isak really can’t be held responsible for what it does. “Um—” He tries, “—do you wanna head to bed?”

Even nuzzles in closer, and Isak _hates_ him for an entire minute, “I wanna watch something else.”

“Okay, what do you want to watch? Let me get it for you.” He really, _really_ needs to get off this couch (in case he pops a fucking boner and then he’ll run out of options).

Even, _thankfully_ , sits up and leans against the other side of the sofa, “I got this horror movie from a friend in Japan and it’s subbed—I’ve been meaning to watch it for a while, it’s just over there by the TV stand.”

Isak gets up and picks up the DVD case. The thing is, Isak’s not the biggest fan of horror movies—he’d just rather watch anything else. But he’s not about to admit this so _fuck it._ The title reads _Ju-on_ and there’s a face of a kid who has blue skin and no pupils— _fuck, fuck, fuck._

Isak says nothing, just feeds the disk into the DVD player and sits back on the couch, reaching for a throw pillow and hugging it tight.

Even chuckles, “Are you scared of horror movies?”

“No,” Isak says defiantly. He’s not scared, because it’s not like it’s based on real life stories, right? Some person (a douche, because _fuck_ everyone who thinks horror movies were a good idea) just pulled this straight out of their imagination—their very deranged and terrible imagination.

“I was waiting to see this with someone else ‘cause I’m a bit scared. Apparently this is based on some urban legend—my friend knows people whose convinced this happened,” Even says.

Well, that’s _that._ Isak clenches his fist, preparing for everything to unfold—he truly _hates_ everyone right now.

*

By the time they’re halfway through the movie, Isak’s given up trying to _maintain_ any distance between himself and Even, and is now currently half on his lap, hiding his face in Even’s shoulder.

Even sniffs beside him, rubbing Isak’s arm and comforting him, “We don’t have to finish this, Isak,” he says but Isak knows Even _hates_ leaving movies unfinished and he seems so _engrossed_.

“It’s fine,” Isak mutters and then basically jumps into Even’s lap when the ghost of Kayako appears on the screen, “ _Fuck_.”

Even runs his fingers through Isak’s hair and pushes his head into his neck. It’s hot—and Isak _really_ shouldn’t be this close to Even. He really doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself here, but at this point, he’s the one that needs protection and _goddammit,_ he’ll take what he can get.

 *

They finish the movie but it takes Isak more than ten minutes to let go of Even.

“We didn’t have to watch all of that,” Even laughs.

Isak glares at him, “And then hear you bitch about how _‘one should always finish watching a movie they’ve started’_? no thanks.”

Even grins. “True, true.”

It’s almost 1AM and Isak feels the exhaustion in his bones, “We should head to bed. I have my flight tomorrow morning.”

“Ah yes, wouldn’t want to interrupt your eight hours, you need that youthful model glow tomorrow.”

Isak rolls his eyes, “Did you take your meds? All of them?”

Even’s eyes perk up. “Oh yeah, thanks for the reminder,” He walks out of the living room and heads into the kitchen, Isak following behind him.

“How’s it going? You mentioned that your therapists started you on some new meds this year?” Isak asks.

Even has always been honest about his mental health, especially if he feels that he’s about to enter into a manic or depressive state. Before they met, Isak had read about Even being bipolar in magazines and even watched him give a TED talk about it, but it was still a monumental moment when had Even told him directly that he has bipolar disorder.

In response, Isak had just hugged him and held onto him tightly. Neither one of them had let go as Even told Isak about when he found out at the young age of fifteen, his first manic episode, all the bullying that he’s faced.

Afterwards, Isak had told him about his mother, when she was diagnosed with schizophrenia, how his father abandoned both of them, claiming that they were too much for him. That day built a sense of unwavering support that linked both Isak and Even together in some sort of chain—a chain that anchors them, gives them strength, carries them when they fall.

Even gulps down the pills and chases them with some water, “Good, good. It’s hard when you’re starting a new course ‘cause sometimes my mood changes unexpectedly and it’s annoying when I have to take days off because of it.” Isak nods as Even walks back to the living room to reach for a tissue, “But I’ve been carefully keeping an eye out for signs and stuff and it’s been really good.”

Isak smiles, “Good, I’m glad.”

Even blows his nose into the issue and sniffs, “How’s your mom doing?”

Isak tenses up, a heaviness sits on his chest. “I haven’t talked to her in two months,” He admits. He’s been holding onto this for so long—even Jonas doesn’t know.

Even rests his hands on Isak’s thigh and gives it a firm squeeze. “I know it’s tough with her sometimes, but I think you should pay her a visit. You know that no matter what, she loves you and you love her and it’s important that we take the time to remind people of that.”

Hearing Even say those words bring a feeling of peace to Isak’s mind. Sometimes, Isak’s been riddled with guilt for so long that he doesn’t realize just how toxic it’s gotten. “How is it that you always say the right things?”

Even’s blue eyes meet his own, Isak thinks of the great big ocean and the mysteries of the universe. “I just know you,” Even says.

They fall silent, but Even inches closer towards Isak and kisses him on the forehead—the patch of skin burns as he draws back. Isak’s heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his ribcage. “Let’s head to bed, both of us are exhausted,” Even says.

They haven’t been this intimate since that night at the club—a night that Isak’s tried to shove deep into his mind so that he never has to think about it. (Now all of sudden, he _wants_ Even to kiss him in other places).

Isak just nods as they separate, and for a second he misses the warmth they’ve built between them. Even takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes before giving him a soft smile—and Isak just stops breathing.

This isn’t the first time Isak has thought of Even as _beautiful_ —but it all feels like it’s changing now. Like he’s noticing new contours and slopes that didn’t exist before, or the way the blues of Even’s eyes are comprised of a mosaic of different shades, or how his lips have little tints of purple and pinks, like a spectacular bed of flowers in a garden.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Even whispers softly, breaking the silence.

Isak blinks and _tries_ , tries his best to come up with something intelligent to say, “You-your face is stupid.”

_Yeah nailed that one, Isak._

Even chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out his arms, letting out a yawn. Isak’s eye automatically goes down, catching the sliver of skin where his hoodie rides up. His mouth dries up entirely— _this is bad._

“Okay well I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” Even murmurs, turning around and walking off.  

Isak takes a moment to steady himself—which leaves him standing in the same spot for more than five minutes but to no avail, he can’t calm himself down _._ He walks to Even’s spare bedroom, a place he’s already familiar with, having stayed here many times. He can hear the other boy shuffling inside his room until it all gets quiet.

Isak lies down, but inevitably he can’t sleep—his body is thrumming too much from energy.

He has a million questions that are circling in his mind—many of which have to do with the strong fluttering feeling that he has in stomach, like there are _goddamn_ butterflies flying around in there.

And _of course_ , Isak’s overactive mind swears that it hears something rattling on the window, and the shadows seem like they’re inching closer and closer. Isak sighs, this is _not_ the time to think of the ghost of Kayako from _Ju-On_ just lurking about in the corner, ready to kill his soul.

Isak gives it a good _half hour_ —which should be plenty of time to rationalize with himself that it’s _not_ the best idea to do what his mind has been suggesting for a while. Because, one, he needs to stop being a fucking baby and grow up—horror movies are _fake_ —and, _two_ , he needs to figure out all this _stuff_ he’s been feeling about Even.

(Tonight is just _one_ of the _many_ instances that have cropped up since that night in the club—maybe even earlier, but one one needs to know).

So Isak really _shouldn’t_ be knocking on Even’s door and crawling into his bed because he needs to _hold_ somebody.

But, Isak’s never been someone who thinks things through logically anyway, (especially when it comes to Even, he realizes, but that’s a thought for another time). So in next couple of minutes, he paces his room, does some pushups to gain the _strength_ he needs to pull this off.

Isak taps at Even’s door so _quietly_ that if Even were really asleep, he wouldn’t hear it. But of course, because the world hates him, Even is very much awake and he opens the door with a questioning look.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Even asks quietly.

Isak wants to say, _yes, yes there’s something wrong because I can’t stop thinking about you, or your hair, or your hands, and your stupid smile._

Instead he bites his tongue to burry down all of those thoughts, “I just—I can’t sleep.” Which sounds a lot better than saying _hey, I really want to be close to you right now for some reason and also I think some fucked up demon woman is gonna come out of the wall._

Even gives him an amused look, “Okay, do you want to come in?”

Isak nods and goes inside as Even steps aside. Even’s room, much like the rest of his apartment, is just like Even—an absolute work of art. The walls are painted yellow, each covered with small drawings, posters, polaroids, and ticket stubs. Isak passes by a bulletin board that’s filled with posters and drawings and—all the postcards he’s gotten him. (The sight of them tugs at Isak’s heart and he finds himself wondering what Even’s face had looked like when he’d read them).

Even is quietly observing him, and Isak can feel his eyes following him as he walks over to the bed. He plops down and then proceeds to slide under the covers. At this point, Isak’s body has a mind of its own and really, there’s nothing he can _do_ (or so he tells himself).

“Can I just—” Isak clears his throat because this is _too much_ , “—sleep here tonight?”

It’s like his brain has just declared DEFCON 5—everything is under attack, there’s an incessant ringing his ear, and his entire body is heating up. Maybe Isak has the flu and the shot he took a few months back didn’t actually work and there’s some defect which makes people delirious and causes heart attacks—because that’s what it feels like right now.

Even has been awkwardly silent— _which makes a lot of sense dumbass now he just thinks you’re weird,_ Isak thinks.

“Yeah,” Even says, quietly hesitantly, like he’s not sure how to navigate any of what’s happening right now, “Although, don’t blame me if you get sick or something.”

Isak huffs out an awkward laugh, “I got the shot a while ago, I’m good.”

Even smiles and walks over to turn off the lights. There’s a little star shaped night light by the bedside table that illuminates the room only slightly. Isak shuffles aside to Even some space to slide in beside him—they’re facing each other now and it’s _too close._

“Are you scared or something?” Even whispers and Isak feels his hot breath on his face.

“Or something.”

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you.”

Isak can’t help but laugh at Even’s words—really, he’s trying to pretend that they don’t just make his heart stutter, “You don’t even know self-defence.”

Even grins, “Oh like you do?”

“Yeah, a little. I box.”

“Yeah I’ve noticed. You’re all muscle-y now,” Even smirks, poking Isak’s biceps under the covers; Isak silently thanks Chris for all her hard work for this moment. “Hey, I need to ask you something.”

Isak inches closer without realizing it. “Okay.”

Even breaks their gaze and looks down—Isak wants to count all his eyelashes and maybe kiss his eyelids—like at this point, he’s _too tired_ and Even’s just _there_ , looking like the way he is.

“I saw some NYU pamphlets? On your desk in your room—I swear I didn’t mean to like snoop or anything, I just—I wanted to tell you that it’s a cool idea.”

Isak lets out a slow breath, trying to gather his thoughts. He hasn’t even told Jonas that he’s considering going back to school yet. Isak didn’t even manage to finish his first year, having gotten scouted by his modeling agency and things were just a complete shit show at home—he had to drop everything and make a rushed decision.

Three years later, he thinks about what his life might have been if he had followed his plans of studying biology, maybe even applying for med school. So, Isak’s sneaked out a few times and walked around the NYU campus, grabbing brochures and booklets, visiting websites and creating mock schedules. He’s been too afraid to talk to anyone about it—but in this moment, it feels right to tell Even.

“No, it’s okay,” Isak says quietly, “Been thinking about going back for a while.”

Even smiles, “I’m glad, have you thought about when you want to start? What you want to study?”

“Definitely something to do with science, maybe even take a couple of astronomy courses. I don’t know, I haven’t given it much thought than, you know, _I want to do this._ ”

“That’s the first step. There’s time.”

“I don’t know what to tell Jonas, or Eskild, or the agency.”

“When you do tell them, they’ll understand, Isak. Your life is your own. You design it how you want,” Even says fiercely. He reaches for a tissue and blows into it, grimacing—and it really should be disgusting, but all Isak can think is how everything Even says is _fucking perfect_.

“Yeah,” Is all Isak manages to say back, too overwhelmed to wrack his brain for anything else.

Even turns around and reaches for his phone. He offers Isak an earphone before squinting at the screen and scrolling to find a song. “Maybe music can sooth ourselves in this hour.”

_Tell me what you really like, baby I can take my time._

“Finally, you have some taste,” Isak comments.

“What do you mean? My sense of music is wonderful.”

“Not when it’s filled with Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber.”

“Don’t be a hater, Isak, it’ll give you wrinkles.”

“That makes no sense,” Isak replies. Even just laughs and inches closer—Isak’s face is now two centimeters away from his lips. “You know, there’s this thing called a personal bubble”

(Not that he technically _minds_ Even being this close.)

Even shuffles closer and _bops_ Isak’s nose. He actually _bops_ it.

“Pop. No more bubble.”

_Just a simple touch and it can set you free, we don’t have to rush when you’re alone with me._

Isak blinks—he doesn’t know if he should step back and think about what Even has just done. He doesn’t even know how to begin to attend to the part of his brain that’s shouting _he’s cute, he’s so cute, what the fuck he’s cute._

“Close your eyes and try to sleep, I’m too tired,” Even whispers as he pulls the blanket up to his face.

_I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe._

Isak watches Even fall asleep, the way his lips part slightly, the way his breathing evens out,  the way his eyelids quiver from time to time. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Even’s ear— _this is happening now, this is how bad it’s gotten._

It takes him a few seconds to pull himself together and leave a gentle kiss on Even’s cheek— _what is he doing, what is happening right now._

Isak falls asleep almost two hours after that.

*

Isak wakes up to his phone blaring his alarm beside him. He goes to turn around when he notices two things: one, Even’s back is currently pushed against his chest and, two, he most likely, _very possibly,_ has a boner.

Memories from last night hit Isak like a freight train and he very slowly reaches for his phone—Even grumbles and pushes into Isak _even more_ . For a moment, he wants to go tell the world to fuck _right_ off.

Carefully and ever so slightly, he manages to detach himself from Even and tuck in the covers so he doesn’t get cold. Isak taps at his alarm and basically runs to the washroom—very much aware that he is dire need of a _cold shower._

This quite possibly the lowest point in Isak’s entire life—getting off in Even’s shower, thinking of Even’s lips and his hands and his eyes.

It’s a good thing he’s heading off to Milan in a couple of hours, but Isak still finds himself lingering by Even’s bedroom door, watching Even’s chest rise and fall slowly as he sleeps.

All bets are off at this point—there’s nothing to hide here. Isak _likes_ Even. Isak (very possibly—quite definitely) _likes_ Even in a not-so-friendly way.

His thoughts are interrupted by a text from Jonas.

**Jonas:** hey, make sure you post something on insta, deals a deal. there’s a car headed your way and should get there in 15

_Oh right._ Isak and Even are in a relationship—a _fake_ relationship and he’s pretty sure it doesn’t come with _accidentally having feelings_ for the other person. _This is bad._

Isak wants to scream—or maybe sleep for the next ten years until all this _shit_ gets magically sorted out wherein his brain isn’t always thinking _Even, Even, Even._  

He pulls out his phone and taps the camera icon. Even has his face smushed into a pillow, his hair in disarray—and pulls at Isak’s heart strings because he’s just so _fond_ of how adorable Even looks when he’s sleeping. He takes a photo and quickly scribbles down a small note and leaves stuck to Even’s phone screen.

_Hey had to leave to catch my flight, there’s some leftover soup in the fridge, feel better -Isak_

Isak leaves then, relieved that he doesn’t have to face Even and deal everything that’s happened last night. He almost debates not posting the picture (because _no one else_ should have the privilege to see Even like this), but ultimately decides he has to. Jonas was right, a deal’s a deal.

It takes Isak almost thirty minutes, the entire car ride to JFK, to think of a caption but in the end he just goes with a simple heart emoji, _because fuck everything._

The plane takes off, Isak feeling it climb higher and higher into the sky. He looks out the window, at the curved surfaces of the white clouds and wishes he could join them. There’s a new sense of heaviness in his chest and it’s pulling him down.

It takes him the whole plane ride to come to a terrifying conclusion: _Isak has fallen in love with Even._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —Well, now that Isak's realized some things, I hope you enjoyed this bit! I wanted to focus a lot on revealing more of the dynamic between these two :) next chapter is quiet possibly my favourite out of all of them. By now you've probably noticed that I've decided on this fic being in 6 parts—I hope that you'll like the next two :) 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [vanqoh](http://vanqoh.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat! Comments and kuddos are always appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which model!Isak and director!Even get caught drunkenly making out with each other by the paparazzi at the club and the only solution to it is to pretend to be each other’s boyfriends.
> 
> //the pretend boyfriends verse that no one asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —hello, hello, hello! (yes i needed to say that 3 times because i'm hella excited)! this has been a long time coming, but finally i have the next chapter ready for you guys! i know i said it might be a long wait from the last, but i just _needed_ to get this out because i've been carrying these words for so long. I’ve added in new tags, if you’ve noticed, and this whole thing is 10k which i really didn’t intend for, but what i can say, this my favourite chapter for a reason so i'll hope that you'll enjoy! this wouldn't have been possible without three lovely people: 
> 
> @[Bleeding_Emerald](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleeding_Emerald/pseuds/Bleeding_Emerald), Annika, you are the most wonderful person and i don't even know this thanks will suffice all that you've done for me. you're so articulate and brilliant and i'm so lucky to have someone like you to look over this silly little thing <3 you are so kind and patient, the world (myself included) doesn't deserve you, ily so much <3 thank you for everything this week! 
> 
> @[junkshopdisco](http://archiveofourown.org/users/junkshopdisco/pseuds/junkshopdisco), JD, thank you so much for looking over this and providing such an amazing insight into the bipolar community. I admire your writing so much and it feels surreal to have discussions with you and having you beta my fic—a true honour really, i’ve learned so much and i hope to learn much more in the future. You’re an amazing writing and an amazing person, i hope this was fun for you as it was for me <3 
> 
> @[eiqhties](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eiqhties/pseuds/eiqhties), Seren, oh my lovely, lovely, friend, i enjoy our conversations so much and to have such an incredibly beautiful writer be in this journey with me has been truly phenomenal; thank you for your patience and kindness, for your support and excitement whenever i throw random ideas at you, ily so much <3 
> 
> //i hope you'll like this babes~

Isak hasn’t slept for more than three hours each night since he left New York and now, halfway through Milan Fashion Week, he feels like he’s about to _explode._

There’s a lot on his mind—his career, his mom, _Even_ —but he can’t figure out what do anymore.

It goes without saying that Isak is having a terrible week. He’s ignoring all of Even’s texts because he doesn’t know how to respond back to them. The last one he received read: _is everything okay?_

Isak wants to scream out how _un-okay_ he feels, how everything seems like it’s collapsing around him. There’s absolute _chaos_ running through his system—and there’s not a damn thing he can do other than just stand and watch it all burn.

 _Isak loves Even_ —and the thing is, he’s loved him for longer than he’s realized.

The past few days have been miserable—remembering how Even’s voice is the only sound he wants to listen to after a long day, remembering how Even’s smile shines brighter than the goddamn sun, remembering how Even’s eyes are as blue as the ocean and he wants to drown in them.  

It feels like someone has punched Isak—in the heart and now every time it beats, it chants _Even, Even, Even._

It’s almost 6AM and he has to be up soon to head out for the _Vogue Hommes_ show. Isak watches the sun rise from the horizon and colour the city in pinks and oranges. He grabs his phone, quickly changes into a pair of sweatpants and hoodie, and slides out the door.

The streets are empty and it’s quiet—Isak takes a moment to breathe out, and then he starts to jog. He gains momentum after a short while, and for a single, precious few minutes the only thing on his mind is the movement of his feet.

Isak slows down when he reaches a park and spots an empty wooden bench. He sits on it and stares at the swing set. Everyday after school when he was younger, his mom used to take him to Central Park and their favourite part was the swings. Isak’s mom would push him and he’d laugh and giggle, screaming, _“Higher, mamma, higher!”_

Those days seem like dreams now, like figments of his imagination. Isak wants to hold on to them, no matter what, he wants to believe that he has good memories with his mom.

He stares at the number of the care facility where his mom is living—it’ll be late back home but he taps call anyway. It rings before when someone picks up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Emily at CAMH, how can I help you?”

“H-hi,” Isak says, his voice cracking. He clears out his throat and tries again, “Hi I was wondering if I could speak with Anette Valtersen?”

“Yes, please stay on the line, who should I say is calling?”

“It’s Isak, her son.”

“Oh, honey. She’s been asking about you.”

Isak swallows down the guilt that’s constricting his throat, “I’ve just been really busy.”

It’s a lame excuse—but that’s what he’s good at apparently, coming up with excuses rather than dealing with things that matter.

“It’s alright dear, just hold one minute,” Emily says before classical music starts playing on the other line to indicate a call transfer.

“Hello?” Comes a soft and meek voice after a few seconds. Isak just stops breathing, “Isak?”

He _won’t_ cry, he won’t.

“Mamma.”

“Forgotten about your old mother already?” She laughs quietly and any bit of strength left in Isak’s body gives out as a tear slides out and runs down his cheek.

He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, dear, it’s just really good to hear your voice. How have you been?”

Her voice sounds so kind and forgiving that Isak’s heart breaks. Tears have started falling down his face and he feels like he’s a grey cloud, heavy with rain—after the first drop, the rest follow in an unbroken stream.

“Mamma,” He whimpers.

“Oh Isak, what’s the matter? Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry,” She says and Isak can tell she’s fighting tears too.

“I wish I was there with you,” He whispers before letting out a broken sob, “I’m sorry, mamma.”

Annette shushes him softly, “I’m always with you, even when I’m not near, I’m always with you.”

She lets Isak cry into his arm for a long time. She just stays there, waiting on the other end patiently, “I love you,” She says, “I love you so much, dear.”

Isak’s breath stutters, “I love you more.”

“Well, I love you the mostest.”

They laugh quietly—it’s something Isak and his mom have always said to each other.

“How have you been? I know it’s been a while, mamma.”

“I’ve been doing well. Better. One day at a time, right?”

Isak smiles, sniffing, “Yeah. One day at a time.”

“What’s been going on at your end? Did my son get even more handsome than when I saw him last?” She teases, making him laugh, “There’s that laugh.”

And just like that, Isak feels like there’s hope. That someday, they can get there—slowly and surely, find their way back to what it was. Or maybe, he can mend the fractured pieces between them into something new, something that grows with them.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Annette says gently, “A little birdy tells me there’s something that’s happened in your life recently.”

Isak tenses up—he hasn’t told her anything that’s happened until this moment. So he takes a deep breath and tells her everything—the kiss, the paparazzi, the contract. By the end, Isak feels the thick knots that have been twisting and turning inside his stomach loosen.

Annette is quiet for a few minutes after he finishes—and then bursts out laughing, “Oh honey, oh honey.”

Isak doesn’t know if he should be surprised because his mom is laughing after he told her that he’s in a _fake relationship_ with someone, or because he hasn’t heard her laugh this much in years, “Why are you laughing?”

Rather than responding, Annette laughs some more and Isak finds himself thinking that his life is actually _a joke._

Annette chuckles, “I’m laughing because this is the most absurd thing I’ve heard. Fame is such a strange thing.”

Isak scoffs, “Hello, I have a crisis here!”

“And what would that be?”

Isak takes a deep breath, _it’s now or never._ “I think I like—I think I love Even. And that’s not part of the agreement.” He grips the wooden panels of the bench, “I don’t know what to do.”

Apparently the world is testing him today because Annette dissolves into giggles yet again, “You’ve just realized this now?”

Isak’s heart stutters, he holds his breath, “What—what do you mean?”

She sighs, “You’ve gotten all my traits except your father’s obliviousness.” Isak _doesn’t_ flinch at the mention of his dad like he used to—like his mom used to. Annette sounds calm, detached, distant—like the once fresh wounds have healed over with skin that’s stronger, more powerful. “You can be so clueless sometimes,” She says fondly.

Isak frowns, “I’m not clueless.”

“Oh, you are. Isak, I thought you were in love with Even the first time we met.”

Annette’s words hit Isak like a freight train that’s gone off its tracks, “Wha—what do you mean?”

“See, clueless!”

Isak gapes, “We’ve been friends! This whole time, until we got into this stupid mess, and now I can’t _think._ ”

“Last time I checked, being friends with someone doesn’t mean longingly gazing at them like you’re Mr. Darcy in _Pride and Prejudice._ ”

“Why are you comparing me with Mr. Darcy?”

“Because, like Mr. Darcy, you’re hopelessly in love. With Even. He has _bewitched you, body and soul._ ”

Isak closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the heel of his hand. This is actually happening. His mom is actually _quoting Pride and Prejudice_ to describe his love life. Or the lack thereof—since it’s really only him that’s in this _mess_ . It’s not like Even’s out there, crying in some park, talking to _his_ mom about what a complete _shit show_ his life is right now.

Annette laughs amusedly, “The truth hurts.”

Isak frowns again, “It’s not the truth.”

“Do you remember? The time when you brought Even to our dinner a year ago?”

It’s a fond memory of his—when Even met Isak’s mom. It had been the day before Christmas two years ago, a couple of months after they met at the _GQ_ shoot, Even had showed up at his door demanding they spend time together before he went off to LA to visit his own parents. Isak was on his way to dinner with his mom so, naturally, Even insisted he come along.

Isak doesn’t remember being nervous at all—Even has always been a people-person, much better at meeting new people than himself. As expected, Anette and Even bonded over their shared love of planting and childhood dreams of living life as a farmer.

_“You, your animals, and plain green fields, what a life!” Even mused._

_Anette laughed, “Truly! You don’t need anything else.”_

_Isak frowned, “You’re both really weird.”_

_Even shook his head, “We just like the simple life, Isak, not everyone desires glamour.” Anette nodded along, smiling at him affectionately._

_Isak huffed, “Well not everyone wants to spend the rest of their lives cleaning up cow shit and wearing overalls.”_

_“You actually look adorable in overalls, Isak. Even let me show you a picture of when he was four!” Anette said excitedly._

_“Mamma, no!”_

Isak, still frowning, nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he left? You told me, _‘mamma we barely know each other but it feels like we’ve known each other our whole lives’._ It wasn’t what you said, but the _way_ you said it. Like you were in awe—you were glowing that day.”

Isak’s breath hitches and everything around him slows down—her words sit heavily on his chest, slip through into his system and settle down quietly. For a moment, it’s quiet, like the calm before a great big storm. But then it hits him, one wave after another—Isak is _in_ love with Even, Isak has _been_ in love with Even.

“I don’t know what to do,” Isak admits after a long time, his voice raw and hollow, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Oh Isak, honey. It’s going to be okay.”

Isak’s eyes are stinging again, brimming with tears threatening to spill over. “It’s _not,_ it’s _not going to be okay._ ”

(Because Even _doesn’t_ love him. Because this wasn’t part of the contract. Because Even’s going to _hate_ him.)

“Do you want to tell him?” Annette asks gently.

Isak sniffs, “No—No, I don’t want to mess up what we already have.”

“You won’t.”

“I will. I always mess things up. I messed up with you—”

“You didn’t mess up with me, Isak. It’s been so hard for you, with everything that’s happened with me and your father, you’ve been so strong throughout all of it.” Annette’s voice is steady and solid, so Isak hangs onto it, for this minute he wants to believe her.

“I don’t know what to say—to him,” Isak admits quietly.

“Be honest. Tell him how you feel,” Annette says gently, “Honey, don’t be afraid of what you feel, don’t beat yourself up for something that’s not your fault. Feelings _happen_. You can bury it down, hide it somewhere, pretend they’re not there—but you can’t deny their existence.” She takes a deep breath, “Love can be scary, especially when you don’t know if the other person feels the same, but what if they do? What if Even loves you back?”

The very thought of Even feeling even an _ounce_ of what Isak feels makes his head dizzy. It’s crossed his mind a few times since he left New York—he imagines the same scene, over and over again. Even and Isak are lying down facing each other in bed—and just smiling at each other quietly. Sometimes Isak will lean towards Even for a kiss. Sometimes Even will pull Isak in by his waist and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. It all seems so _surreal_ , a wild fantasy that’s too good to be true.

“You know Isak, I knew exactly when I stopped loving your father, but I kept batting it away, kept telling myself it wasn’t true,” Annette says, her voice trembling and Isak wishes he could be with her, holding her hand, “It was hard. Being honest with myself, with him, with you. But I didn’t know how miserable I was until he left and I felt like I was alive again.”

Isak remembers that day, when Terje Valtersen quietly packed up his things and drove away in their little black Chevy. It was a cold winter morning, after New Years, when Annette held onto Isak as he sobbed into her chest—despite everything, he still loved him. At the time, though, he didn’t know how much his dad had hurt them, how much happiness he’d stolen from them.

Years passed, Isak grew, and the pain turned to apathy—he didn’t want to see him, he didn’t want to deal with everything all over again.

“What I’m trying to tell you, Isak, is that it’s worth acting on your feelings sometimes. Especially things like love—it’s worth it, Isak, honey.”

It’s been over an hour that they’ve been talking on the phone. The sky is a clear blue, no clouds in sight, so the summer sun shines bright. Isak will have to leave soon for his next show. He clears his throat, “Thank you, mamma.”

“Of course, I feel like we haven’t talked like this in ages.”

Isak finds himself nodding wordlessly. There’s a new sense of relief that washes over Isak—one that was eating away at him, gnawing at his bones. What was once a heavy heart, that made it difficult to breathe, feels easier to carry—now there’s a spark of hope that sets it alight.

“I have to go soon mamma, I have a show.”

“Okay. You’ll tell me how it goes?”

“I will. I promise,” It’s a promise Isak wants to keep, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you the mostest.”

Annette laughs and Isak can’t help but laugh along.

*

By the time he comes back from the _Vogue Hommes_ show, Isak is absolutely exhausted. He somehow manages to take a shower and eat a granola bar before he crawls into bed, falling asleep in minutes.

It isn’t until the sun is setting, creating dark shadows in his room, that Isak wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing beside him. He panics at first, thinking it’s Even—he’s not _ready_ for that yet—but it turns out to be Jonas.

Isak sighs in relief, “Hello?”

“Sorry, bro, did I wake you?” Jonas asks from the other line.

Isak rubs his eyes, “No it’s fine, I should be getting up now anyway.”

“How did the Vogue Hommes show go?”

“Alright, I guess,” Isak sighs.

“Good, good.” Jonas pauses, “Listen, Even texted me today.”

Isak tenses up, gripping his covers, “What did he say?”

“He told me that you’re not picking up his calls? Or responding to his texts? Since you left for Milan?” Jonas sounds confused, as he should be, because he doesn’t know what’s happened since, “What’s going on, Isak?”

“Nothing—” Isak blurts out, he’s too _scared_ , dammit. This whole ordeal has been hell for Jonas already—he doesn’t want to tell him that he’s already breached one of the conditions in the contract. The condition being that Isak and Even are in fact _not_ in a real relationship with one another, hence the _fake_ relationship in the first place, “—I’m just really busy.”

“Okay, that’s what I told him. But he asked me to tell you to call him back, about what’s happening next week with the movie premiere.”

Oh, _right_ . The movie premiere that he’s supposed to attend. With Even. _Together._

“Okay—Okay, I’ll call him,” It’s not a lie _per se,_ but Isak needs _time_ to figure out _what_ to say in the first place.

“Is—I know I keep saying this,” Jonas sighs, “Is everything okay between you two? It’s okay, Isak, you can tell me.”

Isak sits up and and rests his forehead against his knees. He _wants_ to tell him, is the thing. Isak wants to tell him that he’s in love with someone he _knows_ he shouldn’t be. Isak wants to tell him that he’s terrified that he’ll break his own heart—but Jonas has enough to deal with already, so Isak holds back.

“Everything’s okay. I’ve just been stressed, but I finally called my mom today.”

“Oh yeah?” He can hear Jonas smiling from the other end of the phone, “How did that go?”

“Better than I expected, I cried.”

Jonas laughs good naturedly, “Of course you did, you’re a softie.”

That makes Isak smile, “Shut up. I’m stronger than you.”

“Chris has been working with you me, you know? I have big guns now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, so you better watch out.”

Isak laughs, “Chris is stronger than both of us, though.”

“Oh yeah, she can take us both down and not even break a sweat,” Jonas chuckles, “We need to chill out and smoke when you get back to New York, it’s been too long.”

Isak pouts, “Oh god, I’d kill for that right now,” Weed would do wonders for his system, “How’ve you been then? Anything new going on?”

Jonas is silent for a few moments, “Yeah, about that. Okay, look, you know how last week I came to see the Saint Laurent show?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, slowly. He’s remembering now how strange it was seeing Jonas, who normally doesn’t have the time to come to shows, let alone stay for the entirety of them, sitting a couple rows back from the front. “What about it?”

“Well, someone actually invited me to it. And then we had dinner after.”

Isak gapes, “No fucking way! Who?”

Jonas sighs, “Julian Dahl.”

“Julian, _the model,_ Julian?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck, dude? When did this happen? I didn’t even know you two knew each other.”

“We hooked up after that meeting with Tom Ford, like, four months ago.”

Julian Dahl was a twenty-two year old guy from Chicago. He’d been one of the youngest models to be selected for the _Tom Ford_ campaign, alongside Isak. When Isak and Julian had first met, they’d got along easily over their shared love of reading (and Even’s movies—which made Isak feel so proud, but that’s not important there).

“You hooked up? Like there were dicks involved?”

“Yes, dicks were indeed involved.”

“This happened four months ago, how did you not tell me?”

Jonas sighs, “I didn’t tell anyone. It got awkward after that because I only wanted to hook up, but he wanted more.”

“Okay, what happened after?”

“He kept sending me texts but I wouldn’t respond to any of them so he stopped and I figured that was that.”

Isak feels a pang of guilt at Jonas’s words because he’s doing exactly the same thing as Jonas—ignoring Even and all the problems that have to do with him.

“But then I saw on Instagram that he posted a selfie with some _fucker_ , and I may have, slightly, gotten a little jealous,” Jonas explains.

Isak laughs, “Oh yeah, of course you did.”

“Shut up. So yeah, after that, I showed up at his door last week before the Saint Laurent show and we actually talked,” Jonas takes a deep breath, “He’s the only person I’ve met that actually put up with me when I talked about capitalism—”

“Jonas, please don’t tell me you quoted Karl Marx as foreplay, oh my god,” Isak exclaims in horror.

“Hey, it worked! I got laid and it was the best fucking sex I’ve had in awhile, okay? Don’t discredit my homie Marx, he’s revolutionary, both to the world and my love life.”

Isak closes his eyes in disbelief, “I honestly don’t know how we’re friends.”

“Because I put up with your shit too,” Jonas says easily and Isak has to give him that. “Anyways,” Jonas continues, **“** I think I have a boyfriend, now.”

Isak smiles, “I’m glad. Happy for you bro.” He means it, despite everything else going on in his shitshow of a love life, he’s still excited for Jonas.

“Thanks. Geez, I haven’t dated in so long, it feels like I’ll fuck up. I mean I already did before.”

Maybe this is why Jonas and Isak are best friends—because they’re always going through the same things and they react in the same way, more often than not. It’s funny, because this is when Isak will reassure Jonas that he won’t fuck up, that he’ll be okay. But it feels wrong to say things he doesn’t actually believe himself.

“You can do this,” Isak manages to say, wishing the words came from a more genuine place.

“I hope so, he wants all of us to get dinner or something soon.”

“I’d love that. I have so many stories to share, the poor boy won’t know what’s hit him.”

Jonas groans, “Listen, don’t be _that_ person.”

Isak snickers, “I’m your friend, I’ll always be _that_ person.”

“Okay, I’ll let you rest. _Call me, beep me, if you wanna reach me.”_

“You’re lame.”

“Kim Possible was the shit.”

“Bye Jonas.”

“Bye bro,” Jonas laughs as he hangs up.

Isak falls back into bed again and stares out the window. He watches the colours of the sky darken and for a minute, he wishes Even was with him. It’s been entirely too long since Isak heard his voice, his bright laughter, saw his dazzling smile.

He dreams of the blues in Even’s eyes.

*

On his last day in Milan, Isak has the rest of the day off before his flight back to New York the next morning. He still hasn’t called Even, but he hasn’t stopped thinking about him either.

So of course, Isak just stares at Even’s number for fifteen minutes, groans in frustration, and decides to take a shower to cool off.

After lazing around in his bed, wearing only the complimentary light blue bathrobe that came with the hotel room for a couple of hours; Isak keeps staring at his phone, _pointedly_ not making the call he should.

He grabs his book from where it’s lying on top of his suitcase and tries to read for a while and get lost in Markus Zusak’s words. Except there’s a part in _The Book Thief_ where Rudy mentions about someone’s hair being the colour of _lemons_ and then he starts thinking about citruses in general, and how oranges belong in that particular genus, and how Even’s favourite fruit are oranges—Isak screams into his pillow, _everything just goes back to him anyway,_ he thinks.

“I need a walk,” Isak mutters to no one particular. He jumps out of bed, slides into a pair of jeans and throws on a white t-shirt before he’s out the door, wallet and book in hand.

Summers in Milan are hot and humid and Isak wishes it were cooler because he starts sweating right away. He puts on his headphones and taps on a playlist, (it’s one that Even sent him a few months back, but _he’s tired okay_ ).

_Smile, the worst is yet to come._

Of course Even would choose _this_ song to start the playlist—for a minute, Isak imagines Even singing the words to him, and he can’t help but _smile._

(The purpose of this walk was to _stop_ thinking of Even for a while—but of course, Isak has a one track mind apparently, so he’s back to square one. _Still_ thinking about Even.)

_We’re trying so hard to get it all right._

He walks down the narrow pebbled streets of the city, trying to ease the tension he feels in his system which slowly starts to seep out with each step. Isak comes across a little cafe that looks relatively empty through the window. There’s a little souvenir section inside on one side.

_Got nowhere to go, we could be here for a while._

There’s a bandana with little circular oranges printed on that’s sitting on top of a pile of other bandanas and wristbands—Isak wants to laugh, or cry, maybe.

The thing is, oranges will always remind him of Even. (Maybe it’s the fact that Even always, _always,_ smells like oranges, or the fact that the colour is associated with _passion_ and _joy_ and Even is very passionate and he brings Isak joy—oranges just hold a very fond memory in his heart).

_‘Cause I don’t want to lonely, I want to be loved._

Isak doesn’t think about it. He goes inside, grabs the bandana and then the stupidest postcard he finds—and yes, it does say _I love Milan_ —and a pack of pens. Isak orders a coffee before he pays for everything and goes to sit near one of the tables by the window.

_I’ll smile, the worst is yet to come._

He breathes out and just _writes._

_When I’m quiet I can nearly him say, smile, the worst is yet to come._

*

The sky is dark when Isak gets back to his hotel room, the moon is hanging low, hiding behind a few clouds. He shoves the postcard and bandana inside his suitcase—Isak’s certainly _not_ giving them to Even anytime soon (or ever, in fact).

Suddenly his phone buzzes inside his pocket, so he takes it out and immediately wants to chuck it out of the window.

It’s Even, because _of course it is,_ the world isn’t giving him a break today.

Isak doesn’t pick up until the _last_ ring, because _it’s fine_ , he’ll just _bury himself alive_ , after whatever the _fuck_ he says to Even in the call, it’s fine.

He takes a deep breath, “Hello.”

“Isak! Oh my god, you actually picked up,” Even says, surprise colouring his voice.

Of course, Isak’s heart stutters at the sound of his voice, of course. It’s like he doesn’t have control over his own body anymore, (it’s like Even controls his body—which is both terrifying and oddly exciting at the same time).

“Um—” Isak starts, “—sorry, I’ve just been busy… With shows and stuff,” He says pathetically. It’s not exactly a lie, _per se_ , but it’s also not the truth. _The truth is I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do,_ Isak thinks.

“Okay,” Even responds, and Isak knows he doesn’t buy the excuse, “I miss talking to you.”

Isak’s breath catches at his words, because he wants to scream, _I miss talking to you, I miss you, your face, I miss you so fucking much._

He must be silent for a long time, because Even speaks again, “I just—” he clears his throat, “—I wanted to ask if you could come down to LA instead of going directly to New York? I mean, you’re gonna have to go there anyway for the movie premiere, but, um, my mom kinda wants to meet you?”

Isak blinks, _oh fucking hell,_ “What did you tell her?” He hasn’t met Even’s mom yet, but he knows that they’re really close.

“I couldn’t tell her that I was _pretending_ to date you, she’d get worried and fuss over it. So uh, I told her that, you know, we’re seeing each other. So, she wants to meet you,” Even sounds oddly nervous, but Isak’s mind is too preoccupied with the fact that _Even’s mom wants to meet him,_ to take notice. “Like I know it might be too late, ‘cause you leave tomorrow right, ugh, I wish I had told you earlier.”

Even sounds so disappointed and sad, which of course makes Isak disappointed and sad too—but he’s _definitely not_ going to change his ticket now and head to LA instead.

But then Isak thinks about his mom’s words, and then the _small, miniscule, microscopic,_ chance that Even, maybe, possibly, feels the same way. He wants to get it all _out,_ all these feelings and shit, (which, by the way, are terrible, and wonders if he can return them—he has the _receipts_ ).

The thing is, Isak’s flight is _indeed_ tomorrow, and it is _indeed_ a little too late, “Um—I think I can try?” Isak says, because _fuck the world._

“Really?” Even asks enthusiastically.

Isak sighs, “Yeah, I’ll text you if I can .”

“You pick up my call _and_ you’re telling you’ll _text me,_ wow Christmas came early,” Even muses.

He _really, really,_ wants to be sad and pout for the rest of the night, terrified of facing Even again, but of course Isak laughs instead. “Is that what’s on your list? For me to pick up calls and respond to your texts?”

“Uh-huh, I’ve been on my best behaviour all year, I’m definitely on Santa’s nice list.”

“Too bad Santa doesn’t exist.”

Even gasps mockingly, “Don’t shatter my dreams, Isak.”

“You shouldn’t base your dreams on something fictional then,” Isak counters.

“You just have a narrow sense of imagination.”

“And you’re—” Isak falters, trying to think of a comeback as Even laughs, which disarms his heart completely, “—you’re just stupid.” _Damn you, heart._

“I thought you were mad at me or something, after you left,” Even says after a while.

“I could never be mad at you,” Isak says, honestly. It’s the only truth he can bear to tell Even.

“Okay,” Even says, almost like he’s trying to convince himself of Isak’s words. “So, I’ll see you soon, then, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Isak says quietly, trying to ignore the tug he feels on his heart of having to say goodbye to Even.

“Good night, have the sweetest dreams,” Even says, and it sounds like he’s smiling and _god_ ; Isak wants to see that smile.

*

As expected, Isak doesn’t sleep that night. Or on his way to the airport, wherein the lady behind the counter is clearly annoyed at having to book another ticket in such a short amount of time.

Isak tries to read his book while he waits for his flight—but all the words in the pages somehow morph into Even’s name and there’s nothing left to do but close it shut.   

Once he settles into his seat inside the plane, Isak’s too nervous and jittery about seeing Even. And his mom. Because she mostly likely thinks that Isak and Even are in a legitimate relationship with each other—which isn’t the case, because this is all an act, but clearly Isak didn’t get the memo and _fell in love._

*

When his plane finally touches down and he feels its wheels dragging across the runway, Isak wants to throw up. Not only is he completely _exhausted_ from the lack of sleep, but now his body is reacting to the possibility of _seeing_ Even's face, _hearing_ his laugh—he’s tensing up by the minute.

Isak texted Jonas before his flight letting him know he was going to LA and then coming back after the movie premiere for the _Tom Ford_ launch. The bastard just sent him two thumbs up emojis in response.

When Isak makes it out into the airport, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 **Even:** hey, i’m waiting by baggage claim :)

just a warning tho, there’s a lot of paparazzi around so tell me you’re here

Isak sighs, _great._ He types out a quick response as he pulls up his hoodie, taking his time to walk over to baggage claim.

 **Isak:** hey, yeah just walking over, will be there soon

 **Even:** can’t wait :D

As expected, a small army of photographers are waiting by the door as soon as Isak walks outside. He looks up through the swarm, trying to find a familiar set of blue eyes and it’s almost _instant relief_ when he meets them.

Even smiles his _stupid, gorgeous, dazzling_ smile and walks over to Isak and immediately envelopes him in a hug.

“Hi,” Even whispers into his ear, sending a shiver down Isak’s spine, “Let’s get you out of here.”

It all happens so fast, Isak doesn’t even get the time to process it all. Even quickly kisses his left cheek and then grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together. They walk through the crowd, Isak hiding behind Even’s shoulder until they get to his car. Even opens the door for Isak first to let him in.

“Here, I’ll put your luggage inside,” Even says, squeezing his hand before letting go.

Isak tries to control his breathing as he waits for Even to slide into the driver’s seat. It feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

When Even gets back in, he smiles gently at Isak, “You okay?”

Isak looks down at his feet and nods—it’s too much, holding Even’s gaze, “Yeah, just tired.”

“Glad you’re here,” Even says quietly, pulling out from the curb.

Isak _tries,_ okay. He makes a concerted effort to focus on the sky, the road, the other cars, even closing his eyes. But Even just looks so _hot_ driving—which is ridiculous, because Isak has seen him drive before.

*

“So,” Even breaks the silence, “How was the flight?”

Isak clears his throat, _don’t fail me now voice, I need you to work with me here,_ “Long. Are we going straight to your mom’s?”

Even shakes his head, pushing his hair back. Isak looks at him, and purposefully _does not_ wish those were his fingers instead, “The house is ready so I figured we’d stay there.” 

“Oh, your new place? The one in Malibu?” Isak asks, suddenly remembering how Even had mentioned months ago about buying a house in LA that he could frequent when he needed to escape the city for a bit. According to Even, the beach does wonders for creative flow and vision.

“Yeah! I set up a bed for you in the guest room,” Even says, excitedly. ( _He’s so cute,_ Isak thinks, _how can one person be this cute?_ ) “But I haven’t set up anything else yet.”

An awkward silence falls over them and Isak can’t figure out what to say. It’s never like this because there’s always this _back and forth_ that just comes easily when he’s talking to Even—but it’s his fault really. Because now Isak’s feeling these _things_ and it’s clouding his mind, leaving him unable to function like a normal human being.

It’s another twenty minutes of Even driving quietly and Isak trying _not_ to watch him from the corner of his eye. Finally, they stop in front of a metal gate and Even rolls down his window to press a code which automatically opens the gate, letting them inside. Isak has seen bits and pieces of the house from Even sending him random pictures every time he’s down here, but it’s beautiful up close.

“You can go on inside, I’ll bring your stuff,” Even says, sliding out of the driver’s seat. He comes over to Isak’s side and hands him over a stack of keys with a _fucking orange shaped key chain_ —it’s not like he’s had _enough_ of oranges already, “It’s the blue one.”

Isak nods and steps out as Even walks to the back of his car. He _of course_ fumbles with the key, before finally managing to insert it into the lock and twist it open. As Even had mentioned earlier, the entire foyer and living space is empty, except for a yellow loveseat. Isak notices the large glass wall that faces the beach and understands how peaceful it can be here, surrounded by only the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore.

“This is my favourite part of the house,” Even says from behind him.

Isak can’t help but nod in agreement, “It's nice.”

“Hungry? I made some rice and curry, you like that right?”

Isak’s feels giddy at Even remembering what food he likes to eat— _get it together Isak,_ “Yeah, thanks, starving actually.”

Even grins, “Okay. Unfortunately I don’t have a table set up yet so we’re going to have to eat on the floor.”

Isak shrugs, “It’s fine. I’m gonna go—change.” It’s an excuse really, but he needs the time to collect his thoughts and figure out how to act around Even for the next couple of days.

“Yeah, the guest room is just down the hall, to your right. There’s a bathroom in there and you can take a shower if you want, I put out some towels and stuff.”

Isak scurries away like a _damn mouse,_ and takes the longest time in the bathroom. Taking a shower, spending fifteen minutes to towel dry his hair, he even puts on a layer of that dumb serum Eskild told him to use.

There’s a gentle knock at his door, “Hey, everything okay? You’ve been in there for a while,” comes Even’s voice.

Isak sighs, “Yeah, just a minute.” He can’t avoid Even in his own house so there’s no option but to deal with this _somehow_. He walks back into the living room to see Even looking up at him with a small smile, sitting on top of a red checkered mat, with two bowls of rice and curry.

“Thought it would be nice to pretend like we’re at a picnic,” Even huffs out a laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously.

Isak _really, really_ just wants to _rest_ but apparently Even’s going to keep doing cute shit like this—he’s not going to be able to keep a straight face.

“This—” Isak coughs, “—this is nice.” He sits down across from Even and digs into his bowl, unable to stop the appreciative moan that escapes, “Fuck, this is so good.”

“You say that like I’m bad at cooking or something.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

Even scoffs mockingly, “I would never, it’s a true fact. Even Bech Naesheim is good at cooking.”

Isak rolls his eyes good naturedly, “Actually, Even Bech Naesheim is a cocky bastard.”

Even laughs, “You come into my house, eat my food, and this is how you treat me?”

For the first time since he’s seen Even, Isak laughs too—and there’s that _back and forth_ again. It’s something that grounds Isak, he realizes. Something that he doesn’t want to ruin in any way.

Isak watches Even and the little things he does. The way he always mixes in his curry with a bit of rice before eating it, the way he folds his left leg over his right when he sits, the way he chews slowly to savour every bite. It’s like Even is blooming for the first time, unraveling into a sea of stars in a galaxy that’s never been discovered before.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Even says, interrupting Isak’s thoughts.

Isak falters, tries to come up with something to respond back, but his defences are down and his knees feel weak. “You’re really beautiful,” he blurts out quietly.

Even looks at Isak and holds his gaze for a minute. There’s a litany of curse words buzzing in Isak’s mind— _fuck, fuck, fuck._ But something magical takes place: Even breaks their gaze and plays around with his spoon, his cheeks have a tint of red on them.

“You’re really beautiful too,” he whispers, and Isak doesn’t want to hear anything else for the rest of his life.

*

After they finish eating, Even gets a call from Yousef asking him to come into the studio for a meeting. Which leaves Isak all by himself for the rest of the afternoon—a perfect opportunity to snoop around. (He’s never claimed to be a saint, okay?)

Unfortunately, most of the rooms are empty except for what seems to be Even’s bedroom, which is directly across from where Isak is staying. He takes a deep breath, looks down the hall to check if the coast is clear and twists the door knob.

The first thing that catches Isak’s eye is the line of posters hanging on the wall— _Moulin Rouge, Pretty Woman, Say Anything, The Breakfast Club_ , and of course, an _Under The Stars_ poster that Even designed and photographed himself. The poster features a series of polaroids of the two characters, Juniper and Rose, throughout their road trip—it’s a simple concept, yet it makes Isak ache, and for second he imagines himself and Even, in another universe, taking a road trip and falling in love with each other.

Isak shakes off his thoughts and continues to explore the room. There’s a wooden table by the window with papers and manuscripts scattered all over it and a little cactus plant sitting on the corner. With the exception of a small ukulele leaning against a wall, there’s just Even’s bed. It’s perfectly done—Even is, to Isak’s great annoyance, a morning person who gets up early, does yoga, and makes his bed before he heads out for work. Except this time, Even has left the grey hoodie he was wearing earlier today.

It takes Isak exactly 0.2 seconds to jump into bed and hold the hoodie up to his face, inhaling it deeply. He’s _tired,_ and he’s _missed_ Even—no one needs to know. Of course, it smells like oranges, Even’s signature scent.

Isak remembers the little postcard he wrote and the bandana he bought in Milan—Even hasn’t asked why he didn’t get anything in mail from him despite it being an unbroken tradition for almost as long as they’ve known each other. A part of Isak is glad that Even hasn’t brought it up—but another part of him fears the moment that he does.

Isak leaves Even’s room—after a few minutes of hugging the grey hoodie and not wanting to separate from it—and enters his own. He rummages through his suitcase until he finds the postcard, then walks over to the bed and lies down. Isak places it against his chest as he closes his eyes, his heart thrums steadily. The postcard is almost a piece of himself—a piece that he’s never shared with anyone before.

 _Even’s going to hate me_ , Isak thinks as he turns it over.

*

Isak wakes up to someone carding their fingers through his hair. He opens his eyelids slowly, only to realize that Even’s smiling down at him. He almost falls out of bed.

“Fuck sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Even says, retracting his hand back inside his hoodie.

Isak rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and tries to steady his heart—at the rate it’s going, he’s going to have cardiac arrest by the end of today. “It’s okay,” He says—but it’s not _okay_ , _I’m not okay,_ he wants to say instead.

Even bites his lip—Isak tracks the movement with his eyes—and coughs, “So, you know how I mentioned that my mom wanted to meet you?”

Isak blinks, trying to process Even’s words one by one, “Um—yeah?”

Even nods, “Well, okay,” He pauses, shifting from one foot to another, “She called me earlier, to ask if you’d want to have dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh,” Isak says but what he really wants to say is, _holy fucking shit._

Even sighs, “I told her you might be tired because you just got in today, but she won’t stop nagging me about it, and—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine,” Isak blurts out. (It is in fact _not_ fine).

Even’s face instantly lifts up and Isak thinks it’s worth whatever he’s about to get into because he’s earned a smile from him.

“Great, I’ll let you get ready and stuff and we can leave when you’re done? She’s already started cooking. Mothers.”

Isak huffs out a laugh and just nods.

“Okay,” Even says awkwardly, lingers by the door, before closing it behind him.

It feels like Isak’s about to embark into uncharted territories, without a map or a compass—but then an image of Even’s happy face flashes across his mind and he thinks _love really does make you a fool._

*

It takes him almost twenty minutes to decide on what to wear, but finally Isak decides on the black collared shirt he packed before leaving for Milan and some dark washed jeans. He messes with his hair, trying to give it some volume with the pomade, but it just ends up making him look like he’s just gotten out of bed, so he leaves it as is.

It’s safe to assume that Isak’s nervous—to meet his _fake_ boyfriend’s mom and tell her all about his _fake relationship._ Even has a very different relationship with his mother than Isak does with his—based on the little stories he’s heard, they’re practically best friends. Which means that Isak needs to make a good first impression. Except, a good impression doesn’t really equate to _hey, I made out with your son and then got caught by the paparazzi and now we’re pretending to date each other! Oh and guess what? I’m in love with him even though I’m not supposed to be!_

(Yeah, it’ll be great. Just great.)

*

“I have to get her something, what does she like?” Isak asks, suddenly remembering once they’re inside the car, headed towards Even’s mom’s place. It’s bad etiquette to show up to your _supposed boyfriend’s_ mother’s house without some sort of gift.

“Oh you don’t need to get her anything, it’s fine!” Even counters.

Isak frowns, “I do though, I need to make a good first impression, even if we’re not really dating.” It’s painful to admit the truth—that this whole thing is just some _facade_ —but the words ground him a little, so his head isn’t swimming in fantasies rather than grasping the reality of the situation.

Even’s silent for a few minutes after that, keeping his eyes steadily on the road, “Right,” He says curtly.

There’s a small part of Isak that thinks Even’s voice sounds sad—but another more alert part of him blocks it out. Because it’s not like Even’s sad for the same reason Isak is—he’s probably just worried how they’re going to pull off the whole thing in front of his mom. That’s right.

Isak clears his throat, “What kinds of flowers does she like?”

Even huffs out a laugh, “Sunflowers. Same as you.”

Isak looks up to Even, “Really?”

“Yeah, come to think of it, both of you have a lot of things in common. It’s weird, actually.”

There’s an instant rush of thrill that climbs up Isak’s spine at Even’s words, “Like how?”

Even hums contemplatively, “Well you’re both really grumpy when you wake up in the morning.”

“Who isn’t?”

“I’m a morning person.”

“There’s no such thing. You’re an alien.”

Even laughs, “Maybe I am. And you’re both really smart, she’s literally always reading.”

Isak smiles, “What kinds of books does she like reading? Maybe we should get her a book instead?”

“We don’t have that kind of time, Isak. Sunflowers would be more than enough.”

“But you should have told me she likes books! I could have gotten her something from duty free or whatever,” Isak pouts.

“Well, you know for next time.”

Isak’s heart jumps at the possibility of a _next time_. It almost sounds too good to be true. “Yeah, okay.”

“But I think my favourite similarity between the two of you is how you both are willing to learn from your mistakes. I mean I guess that’s a given for her since she’s a teacher, but she’s always been really patient with me and so have you,” Even says quietly.

Even sounds so grateful, almost like he doesn’t deserve to have people who are patient with him. Isak wants to reach out, hold Even to his chest and tell him that he’s _wonderful and beautiful and kind_. But he just stays silent, unable to find the words, until they buy a bouquet of sunflowers at a little flower shop.

*

The rest of the car ride to Even’s mom’s house is awkwardly silent. Isak thankfully brought along his novel (and the postcard that’s currently shoved in the back page, because he’s _an idiot._ ) So for the twenty minutes it takes to get there, Isak reads silently while Even drives just as silently.

It’s dusk by the time they stop in front of a small house with blue shingles on its roof. Isak tenses up. Even notices and reaches over to squeeze his knee—and of course, it feels like his entire leg is on fire.

“Hey, my mom’s like the coolest person I know, and she’s really good with kids,” Even says and then frowns, “Not that I’m saying you’re a kid, just she’s high school teacher so she’s like _down with the youth_ , you know what I’m saying?”

Isak nods wordlessly, trying his hardest to process Even’s words but not really getting there because his damn hand is still gripping Isak’s knee.

“Okay, okay.”

“I’m a little nervous too, to be honest,” Even admits, “I’ve never really lied to her before. About stuff.”

Isak looks up at Even and almost wants to slap himself because here he is worrying that he’s the _only one_ that has to deal with what’s about to unfold. He places his hand over Even’s—no matter how painful it is—and meets those dazzling blue eyes. Even blinks, clearly surprised by Isak’s actions.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here, we’re doing this together, right?”

“Together,” Even repeats.

Isak wedges his book under the seat and grabs the flowers. They walk up to the front door hand in hand.

*

When Even unlocks the door and leads Isak inside, he doesn’t exactly expect a big golden retriever to pounce at him.

“Lemon! Lemon, no!” Even shouts, laughing while pulling at the dog, who’s now on Isak’s chest and licking at his face. _Of course_ the dog’s name is Lemon—citruses are now forever ruined for Isak.

“She’s just being friendly and greeting the guest,” comes another voice from the other side. Isak looks up to see an older woman with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail and the same blue eyes as Even.

She walks over to Isak and Lemon, who is still licking at his face, and offers a hand, “Hello there, I’m Liv, Even’s mom.”

*

After spending a few minutes by the living room trying to get Lemon off Isak, they head over to the dining area to help Liv get everything set up for dinner. The sunflowers Isak brought over are now sitting on top of the kitchen counter in a clear glass vase.

Liv had hugged and kissed Isak on the cheek when he gave them to her—maybe she was where Even got his overly affectionate personality from.

Isak and Liv bond due to their love of reading over steaks and red wine; it’s surprising how easily they get along as the night passes.

Isak finds out that Liv had Even when she was in her mid-twenties, fresh out of university and no job to provide for her little family. Shortly after Even’s birth, his dad left the two of them and they’ve never seen him since. This is something Even has told Isak before—it had brought them closer, knowing that they’d both lived their lives without a father.

“Have you always wanted to be a model?” Liv asks Isak as she takes a sip of her wine.

Maybe it’s because Even is sitting beside him, or that Lemon keeps cuddling to his legs, or the fact that he feels _so comfortable_ right here, he tells her the truth.

“Not really,” Isak says, taking a deep breath, “My dad had just left and I needed to find a way to support my mom so it just sort of… happened.”

Even reaches over and squeezes his arm, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Isak shakes his head, “No, I’ve just been thinking about doing something else lately.”

Liv smiles, “Like what?”

“Get back into university. I’ve always wanted to study science, since I finished high school.”

“You can do it,” Liv encourages quietly.

Even grins, “He’s really smart, he can do anything, really.”

Isak’s heart soars and in that moment, he truly believes their words.

*

“Oh I have to show you baby pictures!” Liv exclaims, placing her fork on the plate and walking over to the living room.

Even groans, running after her, “Mom, no! Oh my god.”

Liv comes back to table after a few minutes with a photo album that, presumably, has Even’s baby photos in. Isak is both amused and really excited to be able to see another part of Even’s life.

“Okay, okay, this is a picture of Even when he was seven and dressed up as a pumpkin for Halloween,” She says handing Isak the photo. He can’t help but laugh at it fondly—a much shorter and chubbier Even is sitting down, looking up at the camera with his fist under his chin.

“You were so cute before, what happened?” Isak teases, making Liv laugh.

Even scoffs, “What do you mean? I’m still cute.”

“Yeah I’m going to have to agree with Isak on this one, babe, you were cuter when you were younger,” Liv says, giggling with Isak.

“I hate you both,” Even pouts.

“You love us,” Isak and Liv say together.

By the time they finish dinner, Even’s cheeks are a lovely shade of red,  thoroughly embarrassed at all of the photos. .

*

“Even, can you take the trash out and walk Lemon? I didn’t get the time today to do it with her myself,” Liv says as she goes around the table and gathers the empty dishes and cutlery. “Isak, you can help me with the dishes.”

Isak and Even look at each other. They’ve both been dreading this moment—and there’s no escaping it now.

Even nods, “Okay. Lemon, come here.” He squeezes Isak’s waist as a silent gesture— _it’ll be okay._

Lemon happily walks over to Even—Isak wishes he could go with them—as they both leave the kitchen.

“I’ll wash and you dry,” Liv says when Isak joins her at the sink.

“Okay,” Isak says as she hands him a wet plate. He grabs a towel from the other side and starts to wipe it.

It’s quiet for a few minutes as Liv and Isak make their way through all the dirty dishes  piled up in the sink.

“You know, when I found out that Even is bipolar, I was just so worried that he wouldn’t be able to do all the things he wanted to,” Liv says, breaking the silence, “But he’s doing so well, I find myself wondering why I thought he wouldn’t be.”

Isak hesitates, wracking his brain to find the right thing to say. “He’s brilliant,” he admits after a few seconds, “One of the most brilliant people I know, actually.”

Liv smiles, meeting his eyes and there’s a silent exchange between them. They’re both proud of Even, both incredibly happy for him.

“I’m glad he has you.”

“I’m glad I have him,” Isak says quietly.

Liv nods, “You know, it’s important for bipolar people to have good relationships in their life. It’s difficult for Even. Sometimes he tells me that his medication doesn’t work.” She takes a deep breath and grips the bowl she’s washing, “Sometimes I feel like he takes all these pills, not because it helps him, but because it makes things easier for other people around him—to keep him in check so he’s not doing something _crazy,_ as they say.”

There’s anger in her voice, like she’s held onto it for years, and Isak can’t help but feel the same way.

“I hate that word,” Isak grits out, “My dad used to call my mom that all the time. He made it seem like her mental illness was _all_ of her and not just a _part_ of her.” There’s a bitter taste in Isak’s mouth that he tries to swallow down.

“Oh Isak,” Liv whispers as she pulls him into a hug. Isak holds onto her for a few minutes, allowing the intimacy, “Your mom is lucky to have a son like you.”

His eyes are stinging by the time they separate—Isak is _not_ going to cry right now, he’s _not._

“I’m just so happy that Even has this constant in his life to rely on, you know?” Liv says, “I’m always so worried, if anything changes suddenly, that it might trigger an episode, but you’re good for him.”

It almost feels like Isak collides with a wall when he processes Liv’s words. She thinks that what he has with Even is a _real_ relationship—a relationship that’s supposed to _help_ Even and not make his mental health _even worse_.

Isak almost wants to tell her everything— _this is all fake, I’m not dating your son, I’m sorry_ —but he doesn’t have the courage to. Not when Liv pulls him over and hands him a bunch of her old books, about plants and space and the human body. Not when she insists that Isak come visit her before the _Under the Stars_ premiere to have tea and help her garden. Not when Lemon refuses to let go of Isak until he kisses and pets her for 15 minutes straight. Not when Liv hugs him and she whispers that she’s had the best time tonight.

By the time they get back to Even’s house, Isak feels like a volcano, ready to explode.

*

“Fuck, I forgot my keys,” Even groans as he walks out the door, leaving Isak waiting in the empty foyer. It’s dark inside so he blindly reaches for the lights for a few minutes, until he gets into the kitchen.

Isak searches for a glass before filling it up with water under the faucet and chugs it down. He can’t do this anymore—all this pretending, all this hiding around, all this lying—they need to stop.

It was a stupid idea from the very beginning, but Isak hadn’t thought of everything that would come with it. He wonders if it would have been easier had he kept his _fucking feelings_ to himself and not fallen head over heels for Even. Maybe he should have spent more time reading over the terms and conditions outlined in the contract, or buried himself in a hole somewhere until his heart stopped aching for a certain blue-eyed individual.

Isak hears the front door open so he braces himself—yet again unsure what he should say to Even.

The last thing he’s expecting is Even standing very still, with Isak’s book in his right hand and the _fucking postcard_ in his left.

“You forgot your book,” Even says slowly, “And then this fell out.”

It feels like the ground under him has suddenly disappeared and Isak doesn’t have anything to hold onto. _This is not happening. This is not happening._

“Is this—” Even pauses, letting out a shaky breath, “—is this for me?”

“No,” Isak blurts out which is, of course, a _lie_ , but he’s not really thinking coherently at the moment. His entire body simultaneously feels like it’s on fire and also drowning in a great big ocean. Both options would be great right now, if it meant he didn’t have to deal with _this._

Even blinks rapidly, “It says my name—”

“I know it says your name, Jesus, Even!” Isak shouts, closing his eyes and clenching his fists.

“Why are you angry?” Even asks quietly, like he’s wounded from Isak’s words.

Isak’s heart quivers, “Fuck, I’m not angry, I’m just—” He swallows the sob that’s trying to rise up, “—I don’t know, _fuck.”_ He feels a tear rolling down his cheek and then he’s fully crying, “I want to stop this. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Even inches closer but Isak flinches and staggers back, “Isak—”

Isak thinks about his mom’s words— _it’s worth acting on your feelings sometimes_ —and then everything that he’s been holding onto for the last few days comes out.

“I like you, okay! There I said it, I’m fucking _in love_ with you, Even,” Isak cries out, rubbing away the wetness in his eyes with his sleeve. He feels completely disarmed and broken down—there’s nothing to stop the words coming out of his mouth, because his brain can’t _function_ any more.

“I haven’t been able to think about _anything_ other than your stupid face, your stupid smile, and your stupid laugh, _fuck._ I can’t _pretend_ anymore, because I don’t want to. I just want to fucking hold your _hand_ because you’re my favourite person and I feel so good when I’m with you and there’s no one in this goddamn world that makes me feel like you do—”

Isak gets interrupted with Even pushing him into a wall.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ Isak_ , I love you too, stupid,” Even says and there are tears in his eyes too. Isak only has time to let a soft sob escape his lips before Even presses his own onto them.He stops thinking completely.

It’s not exactly the most _romantic_ kiss, because both of them are still crying into each other’s mouths, and Isak keeps pulling at Even to come closer—like he wants their bodies to meld into one—but it’s _perfect_ all the same _._

When they finally pull back, Even kisses Isak’s neck, “I love you,” And then his forehead, “I love you,” And then his lips, “I love you.”

Isak sniffs, leaning against Even because his body has no strength left to support him, “This feels like a dream.”

Even tightens his hold around Isak, “Then I don’t ever want to wake up.”

They stand staring at each other for a moment. Isak trails his hand up Even’s arm and stops at his heart. It’s beating just as rapidly as Isak’s—like the two of them are finally in sync with one another.

*

~~_Dear Even,_ ~~

_Even,_

_I’m not good with words. I’m not good at expressing how I feel. I’m not good at a lot of things, actually. So I don’t know how to write this._

_The truth is, I’m sitting here in some random coffee shop in Milan, drinking a terrible cup of coffee and thinking how yours always tastes better. You always say that writing things down helps when you can’t say what you want out loud so I’m going to list everything I want to say to you, but don’t know how to say:_

__\- I love talking to you_ — _more than anyone else_ _

_\- I love that you’re always so loving, and loud, and passionate_

_\- You’re my favourite person_

_- ~~I like you~~ _ _I think I like you_  

 _There’s this poem, by Pablo Neruda, that I wish I could have written for you:_  

**_"Of everything I have seen,_ **

**_it’s you I want to go on seeing:_ **

**_of everything I have touched,_ **

**_it’s your flesh I want to go on touching,_ **

**_I love your orange laughter._ **

**_I am moved by the sight of sleeping._ **

**_What am I to do, love, loved one?_ **

**_I don’t know how others love_ **

**_or how people loved in the past._ **

**_I live, watching you, loving you._ **

**_Being in love is my nature."_ **

__\- Isak_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —i hope you liked this, i was so emotional throughout the whole chapter, you wouldn’t believe just how much i cried while writing this. The reason why this chapter is my favourite is not only because isak finally, _finally_ comes to terms with his feelings for Even, but because this is important in how he thinks of love. To me, love has so many different things - kind, beautiful, harsh, terrible, but it’s worth it to love, and to love loudly. I’m someone who thinks heart first, and sometimes it’s not the best thing, but at the end of day, i’m happy because i know that at least i’ve acknowledged my feelings and did something about it (even though feelings can be so awful sometimes). The message of this chapter is to go out there and do the thing! Whatever that may be for you, whether it’s having a difficult conversation with someone (like isak did with his mom) or letting someone know how you feel about them :)
> 
> this fic means so much to me and i want to thank all of you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you, for reading, commenting, sharing, messaging me, giving it kuddos. I have a selfish request that if you do read it, please let me know the parts you liked in a comment because it gives me so much joy to know that you liked what i’ve created <3 after this chapter, i’ll be taking a little bit of a break, not too long, just until the end of august because i’ll be on holiday! 
> 
> Let’s just say that I’ve put up an M rating for a reason and that’s something you can look forward to next chapter ;) even and isak’s sexuality will be further explored the next bit and so will the media response! i hope all have a beautiful day <3
> 
> *extra notes: this is[Julian Dalh](https://68.media.tumblr.com/2d17456d4a3797509df34794511eb6d4/tumblr_nfuxt75WIp1rb8b1po1_1280.jpg) on the fic ;) 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [vanqoh](http://vanqoh.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat! Comments and kuddos are always appreciated <3; also on twitter if that's your thing @vanqoh
> 
> (Feb 2, 2018)*Note: This will be the last chapter of this fic; thank you all for supporting this until now, however, I truly won't be able to get back into writing for a while, so I've decided that this chapter seems like a good place to end until I'm able to write again!

**Author's Note:**

> —listen that club scene where Isak and Even were dancing took me 2 days to write because I have no idea what people do in clubs?? but I hope you enjoyed the first bit, the next update should be in a weeks time, I'm really busy with school and things so I hopely I can update this regularly! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [vanqoh](http://vanqoh.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat! Comments and kuddos are always appreciated <3


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